#here! please enjoy this lump of flesh :]

[p0cketstitched]

gross

[gor3-hound]

CRY FOR ABSOLUTION - LEON S. KENNEDY

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

a/n: heyyy :3 had to make the priest collar edit on picsart so don't look at it too close... um... title from 'absolution' by ghost. thank you @ottermarbles for beta reading !! been working on this slowly while writing commissions... finally here !! rbs and feedback appreciated as always <3

cw: 18+ content, priest!leon, non-religious!reader, dead dove, non-con to dub-con to non-con, victim turned perpetrator, forced breeding, mentions of forcing marriage, religious themes, p in v, creampie, degradation, name calling, breath play

word count: 1.6k words

Leon can sense your presence in the church before he sees you. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, his whole body going rigid. He starts murmuring under his breath, eyes shut as he recites the prayer. He’d tried countless times to pray to the Virgin Mary, to strengthen his faith in God so he may resist your advances. To Saint Mary Magdalene, to guide you away from your life of sin. To God Himself to plead that you would leave him alone.

He was sure you were the Devil. Almost certain that you were some cruel test that God had bestowed on him.

He grips the rosary dangling around his neck as your footsteps get closer, whispering one final prayer to God, a desperate plea to give him strength before he faces you, hands trembling as his eyes open to meet yours. Leon couldn’t quite understand how you always managed to avoid the crowds, to worm your way into the Church between services, narrowly avoiding the other priests. You did not care for them, for your faith. You had your eyes set on Leon, a succubus in the flesh that had targeted him so callously.

”While I appreciate your dedication to the Church, I’m afraid the service has already drawn to a close, and there is a lot of work for me to get through before tonight’s service. Perhaps if you return later with the other parishioners, we can s-“

”Father, I hoped to speak to you before the service.” You say as you stalk closer, your heated gaze trailing him. He almost doesn’t hear you speak, the ringing in his ears dampening the sound around him, making your voice nothing more than a faint echo. He’s looking at you, but he’s not seeing you. His gaze is far away as he tries to think of something, anything else. A lump forms in his throat that he cannot dislodge no matter how hard he tries, swallowing to attempt to clear the passage enough so that he felt he could breathe, but with no success. His vision blurs, and he vaguely registers the tears forming in his eyes as you coo, cupping his cheek to wipe the few that fall.

”Please,” he whispers, voice cracking as he gazes at you fully, your face slowly coming into focus. What did he do to deserve this? He was a good man, wasn’t he? He’d tried his best to help the less fortunate, to be kind to everyone he spoke with. Had he committed some sin without realising it? Some blight against God that meant he deserved this? "Please, I don’t want this. You’re misguided, that's all. I can help you. You don’t have to do this.”

As always, his protests fall on deaf ears. He feels the steady stream of tears running down his face, brows pinching together as you back him up into the confessional. His chest continues to grow tighter and tighter until his lungs constrict painfully with each breath. The air gets caught in his throat and makes him choke, his brain shutting down as he just lets you free him from his vestments and tug down his trousers. He's glad to be rid of the collar, at the very least. It feels less like God was bearing down on his throat to drag him to Hell for letting this happen.

The first sob forces its way from his chest as your lips wrap around his cock. He wishes that he could hate the way it felt. It makes him nauseous - makes his head spin, but it feels good. He's at war with himself as to what this means, if enjoying the wet warmth wrapped around him means he's no better than you. He closes his eyes and clenches his fists as he tries to distance himself from your touch.

You pull yourself off of his cock with a pop, rustling around for something in your pocket. The crinkle of a packet has his eyes snapping open again, his eyes honing in on the foil you're holding up between two fingers. Panic seeps into his very core, his breath coming out in harsh puffs. “Thought we could try something new.” You say with a giggle, like it's the most normal thing in the world.

No. No, this couldn't happen to him. He's a priest - he's meant to stay far, far away from the pleasures of the flesh. He had to do something, anything to stop you. He swallows hard, eyes flickering around the confessional, trying to figure a way out of this before you lead him down a path of sin.

Leon isn't sure what happened. One minute, you were tearing open the condom with your teeth, and the next minute, he pounced. His hand gripped your throat to pin you down in the confessional, squeezing tight. His eyes are wide, almost feral as they meet yours, his free hand yanking your underwear down. His movements are clumsy as he prods as your cunt, trying to push his way in. After a few attempts, he manages to hook the tip on your entrance, and he slides home in one thrust.

“Oh.” He breathes out, eyes squeezing shut again. Maybe God wasn't testing him. Maybe this was his reward for being a good follower - all he had to do was breed this pussy full and wed you, and he'd be able to do this as many times as he pleased.

No. This was a test. He must have passed. He succeeded, and this was his reward. A pretty housewife for him to keep bred and safe in his grasp. A woman to cure his cold, lonely nights. He could finally have the family he always wanted. He was angry at you now, yes, but he would forgive you when you accepted his proposal and his seed.

“Temptress.” He hisses between gritted teeth, the hand on your throat tightening. The pressure against your windpipe is bruising, leaving you desperately trying to gasp in breaths through too tight of a passage. “Indecent whore. This is what you wanted, wasn't it? You didn't care when I told you ‘no’, did you? No? Then take it.”

He scoffs as you plead for him to stop again, his brows narrowing in frustration. He didn't want to do this. Leon was a good man. He was a holy man. He couldn't let you ruin him. What if the word of this got out?

“You wanted to ruin me, didn't you? You thought you couldn't take what you wanted from me without consequences? That… fuck… that God wouldn't punish your sins? I'm going to make you take my seed. You're going to be my pretty little wife, and no one will hear about this.”

He thrusts forward particularly violently after his words, his grip on your throat tightening enough that you start thrashing, cunt clenching around his cock enough that he has to halt his movements to stop himself from cumming too soon.

“If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will drag you down into the deepest depths of Hell with me. I swear it on the Lord Himself.” He grits out, finally releasing his hold on your throat.

He ignores your protests, a muddy mix of guilt and anger swirling in his chest with each plea that falls from your lips. You had shown him no mercy, and yet you expect him to spare you? You were nothing more than a Godless nymph. He would show you the light.

“Do you know your prayers, hmm?” He coos, gripping your chin. The pads of his fingers dig into your cheeks harshly, drawing a pained moan from you. He starts fucking into you again now that his orgasm has fully subsided, letting out a shaky breath at the drag of his length against your gummy walls. “No, of course. You have no respect for the house of the Lord - you just wish to defile it.”

He lets go of your face to hitch your legs over his waist, breaths coming out in heavy pants as he pistons his hips into you, sweat beading against his skin from exertion, bangs stuck flat against his forehead. “Repeat after me.”

‘Lord God, in your goodness have mercy on me:’

The words fall past your lips in a daze as you repeat them, his hand reaching up to your throat again, but not squeezing. A warning to continue as he speaks the next line.

‘Do not look on my sins, but take away all my guilt.’

He's close now, barely able to hold back as he ruts into you helplessly, reduced to nothing more than a dog in heat as you clench around his cock.

‘Create in me a clean heart and renew within me an upright spirit.’

His hips stutter as you repeat the last words of Contrition back to him, his head dropping to the crook of your shoulder as he gasps out sharp breaths. His cock jumps as he orgasms, stuffing you full of his cum with a noise more akin to a whimper than a moan.

He leans back, eyes taking in your appearance. There was some kind of sick satisfaction seeing you broken like this, knowing God had allowed him to take back the part of him you had aimed to destroy.

You would be his. He would keep you as his wife, his prize. He was given a chance to relinquish the sins you had bestowed upon him.

He would not let the opportunity pass.

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

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CW: throwing up.

Back then, Mother wasn’t like this.

Your childhood memories are a broken mosaic, shattered and scattered, much like the snow globe Daddy gifted you at Christmas before he disappeared. At the age of twelve, it seems like your mind finds a way to flush it all out. Now, there's hardly anything left to hold onto as proof that you weren’t born and started out as a sixteen-year-old girl.

Yet, somehow, you know Mother wasn't always like this. She didn't begin her existence as a woman who wielded her critical gaze like a burn, her lips all too willing to spew sharp words when she caught you wearing a dress she didn't remember buying.

Today was supposed to be fun—your lunch outing, “girls time,” as Mom would say. She promised to take you to the new Italian restaurant around the block, then you’d go for some ice cream and some shopping. You figured this was the perfect occasion to wear that beautiful white tweed dress from Auntie Joyce.

But, as you came to your mother’s room to borrow her perfume, her smile faltered at the sight of you. She stopped applying her blush, placing the brush on her dressing table.

“I don’t remember buying this one,” she said, tilting her head as if the fabric offended her.

You bite your lip, torn between telling the truth or lying. But, the dress is just too pretty not to wear.

“You did.” You reply, hoping she’ll buy your lie.

Your mother, however, deepened her frown—she didn't. Instead, she got up from her dressing table chair, striding over to touch the dress' fabric. Her fingers sent a shiver down your spine as she reached the back of your neck to yank the tag. She gasped as she read the designer's name.

“You think I’d buy you a Chanel dress?” She hissed, eyes wide as fury seeped into her voice. “Who gave you this?” she demanded.

Your heart was racing. You were about to respond, but you knew deep down that no explanation would be enough to quell her anger. She would not tolerate your silence. You let out a gasp as she seized your shoulders, shaking your body roughly.

"Who was it?!" She snapped.

“I-It was Auntie Joyce,” you whispered, shrinking under her gaze.

At your answer, her face became even more contorted, features twisting as she dug her sharpened nails into the flesh of your shoulders. “Why?! Why would you do this? Are you trying to insult me?!”

“No!” You pleaded, but she only paced faster, breathing heavily as if on the verge of explosion. “I just... I just liked it!” you desperately tried to explain.

“Liked it? Or was it just that Joyce could afford you what I can’t?!” she booms, spinning around to face you. “Do you wish Joyce was your mother instead? So she could buy you fancy dresses when I worked my ass off for you?!”

A lump formed behind your forehead, the ache intensifying as your vision began to blur. Glancing out the window, you notice the gorgeous weather outdoors—a deceitful illusion that had led you to believe this day would be a good one. You were supposed to go on a lunch outing to that new Italian restaurant.

You clenched your teeth, holding back your words. Did you really give off that impression, simply by wearing this dress? Was it disrespectful of you to accept Aunt Joyce’s gift when you were meant to spend the day with Mother?

The pounding in your head became more intense. Was the adult world this complicated? That every action had layers of implications that weren’t visible on the surface? You had hurt her without even realizing it. If the adult world was this confusing, then how were you going to survive after turning eighteen? Nothing was ever simple.

You stand trembling, picking at your fingers until they bleed. With trembling lips, you dare meet her glare.

“I-I can ch-change,” you stutter, hoping it will calm her anger, anything.

But her brows furrow lower, her mouth twisting in a sneer. A sharp look as she spat: “Too late. You’ve already ruined our day. This is all your fault!”

You struggled to control your racing thoughts and the growing panic. "Please..." You pleaded through shallow breaths.

“Get out of my room.”

Ignoring your desperate pleas, Mother directs her gaze to the mirror, her eyes fixed on her reflection. She doesn’t look at you, but you know she’s waiting. As quietly as you can, you slip out like told. You close the door with a gentle click, and the house falls silent once more. The heaviness in your chest becomes unbearable because you know this will mean two days of Mother treating you as if you were invisible.

Something broke inside you. Fresh tears streamed down your face as the excruciating pain in your temple pounded relentlessly. Your body trembled uncontrollably, racked by waves of sobbing.

Mother wasn't always like this before, but you weren’t sure about that anymore. It was hard to conjure the image of that other version of her, now that the venom had infiltrated your veins, weighing down your eyelids and convincing you that Mother had always been born and started as a woman scattering eggshells in her wake.

Or perhaps you’re the poison. Perhaps you're the one who scattered the eggshells. Perhaps Mother’s venomous outbursts were merely her attempt at retaliating, releasing a barrage of curses and what-ifs. Of another life she might have had if you hadn’t existed, had she never met Dad.

(But I don’t know why I’m here, either.)

Now, you’re sitting on the edge of the plush bed, in the room Sabrina gave you and Simon. The ornate carpet seems to be the thing that catches your attention, but in reality, your mind is more preoccupied with what happened an hour ago: Joyce introducing Simon as your boyfriend to Mother, Mother pretending she’d known all along—“There just hasn’t been an opportunity yet,” as she tells Joyce.

The way she touches you in a gentleness you never believe she was capable of.

Drowning in the depths of your thoughts, you remained oblivious to the shower ceasing or Simon exiting the bathroom in all his bare-chested glory. Droplets of water clung to his skin; a towel hung around his neck. He stares at you like a crossword puzzle, hands on the waistband of his pants.

“You alright?” he asks. 

Forcing a smile, you say, “Yeah, I’m alright.” 

Simon’s eyebrows raise slightly, his gaze studying you suspiciously. But he’s never been one to push people into things they don’t want to say. He moves to retrieve his shirt from his bag.

Unable to hold back your guilt, you blurted out, “Sorry about Sabrina. She shouldn't have acted that way towards you.” You fidgeted with your fingers, seeking a distraction from the growing unease.

Simon paused, then turned first his head and then his body to face you. He claimed the empty spot next to you, the bed dipping heavily under his weight. You didn't dare meet his gaze, fixing your eyes instead on where his shirt was still bundled at his elbows.

“That really what’s ‘ad ya so tangled?”

You let out a humorless chuckle. If only he knew how much his gaze seared you—how desperately you searched for a momentary reprieve by averting your eyes from him. Yet, avoiding him was an impossible task. You dared to look up to meet his stare, feeling your heart flutter against an invisible grip.

“Maybe,” you answered, leaving the question unanswered.

Simon huffed out a breath. It seemed like the situation weighed more heavily on your mind than they did on his.

Feeling brave, you added, “And I’m sorry about my aunt too. For how she labeled you.”

Simon gave a non-committal grunt, and now you were desperate to unload the heaviest guilt of all. One that he probably won’t brush off so easily.

“And I’m sorry about my mother,” you began, voice small and hesitant. But the sentence had been said, and you had to finish it. “I didn’t… I didn’t tell her about you like she claimed.”

When you finish, you brace yourself for his reaction—for his confusion and skepticism, questioning why your mother would say that in the first place. You've prepared yourself to respond truthfully: you don't know. After all, there were countless things your mother did that you couldn't make sense of, no matter how much you racked your brains. By then, you had braced yourself for his irritation, a demand for clarification—or even an accusation that you are trying to trap him, to reveal his existence to your family to ensure he can't leave you so easily.

Feeling indebted to redemption, you try again, “If you want to leave early, before tomorrow… I’d understand.”

“Ya think too fuckin’ much, ya know that?”

You stare at him as Simon tucks his shirt on, muscle ripping under inked skin. He stands, reaching for the cigarette pack he left on the bedside table before he showered earlier. Considering his words, you nod more to yourself.

“Maybe I do.” You reply softly.

“It ain’t fuckin’ ‘ealthy, love,”

Simon shoved the cigarette pack in his pants pocket. He was the last person to talk about healthy habits when he smoked several packs a day. But who are you to judge? Somewhere beneath your brittle bones, in your greenish-brown flesh, you are just as poisoned, if not worse. Every day your mouth spews acid from the rotten fruit growing in your belly.

Based on your self-examination, you offered a simple two-word response.

“I know.”

The great hall was alive with music and laughter as Sabrina led the crowd, Andrew by her side with his possessive hand resting on her waist.

“Tonight’s our last night of freedom before the shackles come on, people!” she exclaimed dramatically, drawing laughter and cheers to fill the room. “So let’s eat, drink, and have a good time! But for the love of God, try to keep yourselves in check; we still have a wedding tomorrow!”

With a glass raised high, she prompted the rest to join her in a toast, followed by a domino of clinks and enthusiastic applause. From your perch at the far end of the room, you watched with a smile as Sabrina blossomed under the attention. Her friends flocked around taking photos, their phones flashing on and off before bringing the blonde into a crushing hug.

The looming shadow at the edge of your vision grabs your attention, and you turn to see Simon's imposing frame returning from a phone call. You greet him with a quiet “Hey,” searching his eyes. “Is everything alright?”

Simon leaned in close to your ear. “Yeah, everythin’s fine.” He cast his gaze on the last-minute decorations scattered around the room. “Fancy.”

You followed his gaze, nodding and bringing your champagne glass to your lips. “It is rather fancy,” you agreed softly, taking in the view of people dancing to particularly cheesy music. “Could’ve Gone For You” blared across the hall—it was a wonder no one had complained yet. “The music could be better though.”

As expected, he gave a derisive snort from behind his mask. “Could’ve gone without that sappy shite, if ya ask me.”

You laugh at his visible irritation, and he smiles—crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes—either in appreciation of his own joke or something else. Looking around, you see Sabrina flitting from guest to guest with her fiancé. Your uncle laughs with a group your age, no doubt torturing them with his lame jokes and exaggerated stories.

As your eyes swept further, a familiar face appeared in the throng. Sabrina’s mother is greeting everyone happily... and beside her, her. Your own mother glided near with a faux smile, her gaze finding you instantly across the room before it landed on your hands. And her face contorted in dislike.

Your airway tightens, and your grip on the glass stem turns your knuckles white. As your mother says something to your aunt—causing her to direct that bright smile in your direction—your breath comes out in short stutters that you refused to acknowledge. But unbeknownst to you, someone else had noticed your suddenly quiet demeanor.

“Here’s my favorite niece!” Aunt Joyce exclaimed, pulling you into her signature suffocating hug layered with her fragrant perfume. You forced a smile, cheeks straining under the effort.

Releasing you, she turned her attention to Simon, brows knitting in the absence of a champagne glass in his grip. “And you, Simon! Where’s your drink?” she asked almost as if she were offended, and before Simon could answer, Joyce waved her hands dismissively. “You know what? I’ll get it for you! Consider this a special treat from the mother of the bride.”

“Bring me one as well, Joyce.”

Then she spoke, unexpectedly. Joyce and you fell silent, exchanging a surprised glance. Mother abhorred drinking, berating even the most moderate drinker within sight of her. Yet here she was, requesting a glass of champagne, with a smile still not reaching her eyes.

Joyce hesitated. For a brief moment, as the conversation lingered in limbo, you hoped she would refuse, that she would stay and not leave you alone with her. But alas, your aunt left the conversation without questions, melting into the crowd with a resumed cheery demeanor and a “Coming right up!” abandoning you and Simon, betraying the image of a good host.

Mother smiled—a perfect picture of a mother—as she turned to Simon. “We haven't really had a chance to talk more, have we?”

The game starts. You wait for Simon's part in their exchange, fingers twisting white-knuckled around your champagne flute. Your heart races like a caged bird's, pounding against your ribs while acid explodes in your stomach.

Simon gave her a curt nod. “I s’pose not.” He answered so casually.

Mother chuckled softly, a sound like ice cracking. “My daughter right here"—she places a manicured hand on your shoulder, nails digging possessively into your exposed skin—“she's very shy, believe it or not; which is probably why she hides so many details from me about you.”

You despise the way her voice assumes a sweet, innocent tone—a mask to deceive yet another person to fall under the impression that she is a "good" mother and to normalize her prying into the lives of the people in your life with the excuse, "I'm just a mother who is worried about her daughter."

Something old, almost ancient, creeps up the walls of your stomach—rising, rising, rising like a tidal wave. Acid scorches your insides, your mind twisted in anxiety. You try to catch your breath to keep your expression schooled.

Mother smiled again, then asked, “What is it you do for work, Simon?”

You yearned to reach out to Simon, to tell him that he was under no obligation to answer. He valued his privacy above all else, you know, sharing little even with you. You wanted him to know that he doesn't owe anyone an explanation, least of all this woman who had so abruptly ambushed him with impudent questioning.

“Engineerin’ stuff, mostly.” came Simon’s reply.

You feel a spark of relief at his lie—one that tells you that he knows he owed this woman nothing. That he, like you, saw through her guise to the poison beneath. And in that, a dark triumph bloomed despite your raging gut. Perhaps it was a sick, twisted thing—the thought of another seeing Mother as she truly was and not as the loving mother she's pretending to be.

Proof that you're not crazy. That you're not the ungrateful, disobedient child who left home as she described to her relatives in pursuit of sympathy.

“An engineer, interesting,” Mother replied, though her smile remained cold. “It’s good (Y/N) has found someone so… capable.”

As she turned to you, you saw it—that brief flash of disgust, dislike, and something more threatening on the curve of her lips. A flash of fangs before the strike. The sour taste of acid reached your epigastrium as your head sank into déjà vu. It was like all the other times, when the family reunion was in full swing and she would tell a series of “jokes” about you.

Which, then, you soon learned was humiliation.

Mother would do it again, this time to Simon. She would paint you in a worse light and portray you as a weight that he would be wise to shed. And then later, after he was gone, Mother's arrogant triumph would be cemented in her chant as if she had proven a point, as if she was right once again.

As if people didn't leave you because of her.

To prove your fears, Mother sighed delicately. “It's too bad I live so far in San Francisco. If I were nearer, I'd be sure to give her lessons to improve herself—she still has a lot to learn, and I wouldn't want my daughter to burden you.”

At this point, the pain had already hit your head. Your mouth shut tightly as you desperately attempted to suppress the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm you. In your efforts to maintain a semblance of composure, you missed Simon's concerned glance.

“Reckon if anyone’s a burden ‘ere, it’s meself. But she don’t seem to mind it none.”

Feeling Simon’s hand squeeze your shoulder gently should have melted the tension away—but it didn’t. If anything, it only served to twist the knife deeper. Then, shame bloomed in your chest.

Under Mother’s watchful eyes, even his touch now felt tainted, as if it were something it shouldn’t be. A sin you had no right to. And you hated this—how easily she could twist even this, turning a comforting gesture into something dirty and wrong. It wasn’t, you knew, yet still you couldn’t banish the sickening guilt that writhed within like an eel.

You hate yourself for this.

Mother scoffed at Simon's reply, annoyed he refused to rise to her bait. “That's a surprise. You seem to like my daughter very much.”

The acid hit the tip of your throat. Setting down your champagne glass, you fled the room as fast as your unsteady legs could carry you, one hand clamped over your mouth. You burst through the nearest bathroom door just in time, collapsing in front of the toilet and retching violently. Stinging tears rolled down your cheeks. The acrid fluid spilled through your fingers, stripping your throat raw until there was nothing left but dry heaves.

Sitting on the cold tile, you feel as small as that sixteen-year-old girl again. Everything you’ve tried to do—leaving home and moving to a new continent, changing your phone number, making minimal contact with people who might tell her about you—now feels pointless. Foolish little girl.

How bad was it all those years ago? It's ironic that the memory has been blurred, yet your body still reacts the same way to her. Suddenly, a hole forms in your heart, a vacuum where all the big emotions are drained away, leaving only a hollow emptiness. Nothing. This yawning void is no better than everything.

Lost in the numbing fog, you jumped when the door banged open suddenly. Simon stormed in without a knock—very much in his character. The black mask obscuring his expression, but you could see his eyes burning with some intense emotion that you couldn’t place.

Judgment? Pity? Disgust? You don't know, and you're afraid of finding out.

Instead of answering your "questions," he crouches down in front of you, brown eyes sweeping over you, assessing your condition.

“You alright?”

His voice came out gruff, but there was an unusual edge you’d never heard before. Nodding slowly, you rasped, “Yeah, must’ve been the champagne.” It was a lame lie, but you were too tired to offer a better one.

Simon must have realized that too. He looked at you as if he knew what this was about, as if he had seen plenty of this. But, alas, you were a coward, choosing to avert your gaze and pretending his eyes didn't strip you bare to the bone. How could you explain to him that this was all because of a mother?

“Come on, let’s get ya back to the room, yeah?”

In that moment, you are reminded that Simon is not like her; he doesn't pry or make demands. He doesn't ask questions you fear to answer or force explanations you don’t want to elaborate. Whether it's kindness or indifference, you don’t know, but for now, it’s comfort.

Even as you wrapped yourself in a cocoon as soon as you reached your room, Simon let you. He closed the door after returning from another smoke, turning off the lights and letting the room bask in the pale moonlight coming through the window. The bed groaned as he joined you, his big, warm body close yet distant.

You fervently wish he would embrace you.

Fresh flower arrangements filled the air with a sweet scent; the wedding arch looked stunning with the decorations Joyce had mentioned the day before. On the long-awaited big day, the manor was bustling with excitement and nervousness. Bridesmaids were running around the hallway in their beautiful gowns.

Clicking his tongue, Simon wrestled the buttons of his suit jacket with effort. To think that clothes meant for his smaller, younger self years ago would fit his now bigger body was foolish; however, this was the only formal wear he owned back home. Besides, he had never been one for fancy parties (his life was more about simpler, boring affairs). If it weren’t for you, Simon was sure he wouldn’t be attending any more similar events in the future.

His lips released an exhale as the final button slid into place. Walking to the mirror on the far side of the room, Simon couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. His broad shoulders were stretched to their limits, almost tearing through the black fabric with every movement. Like a grown gorilla stuffed in boy’s clothes. But it’d ‘ave to do, he supposed. Not like there’s time to run out for a new one now.

“All set then?” you asked Simon as you walked out of the bathroom after finishing your makeup and hair.

Glancing around, you saw his tie laid out neatly on the bed. You lifted the silk tie and turned to him, stepping closer to close the distance between the two of you. “Here, let me do this for you.” You offered him.

Simon inclined obligingly, lowering his head to allow you to loop the tie around his neck. The next part proved to be a challenge. Trying to bridge the gap between your heights, you rose up on your tiptoes, hands straining to cross the wide satin over the narrow one, but still fell exasperatingly short.

Releasing a sigh, you looked up into his eyes. “Could you maybe... bend down a bit? I can't reach up there." You said.

A wry smile quirked his lips, and for a moment, you thought he might refuse just to give you a hard time. But after a beat, Simon stooped lower so your faces were level. “How's this, then?”

“Much better, thank you.”

Simon watches your hands work deftly, tucking the strip of silk beneath in a half-Windsor knot. You pull it taut in the direction of his collar, then flatten out the delicate fabric's dimples on the sides. The tie is completely symmetrical after one last tug.

“There.” You smooth the silk against his broad chest.

You turn to do your other preparations, while Simon walks over to the standing mirror to take one last look at his appearance. Satisfied, he turns to watch you insert yourself into your light blue dress.

“Can you help with the zipper?” you ask.

Simon’s footsteps approached before you felt his big palm meet the skin of your back. Your breath hitched, goosebumps running down your spine. He worked the zipper until a brief hissing sound was heard, signaling it’s all set. “All done.” He announced.

Before Simon could stop himself, he leaned in to brush a ghosting kiss by your ear. “Ya smell nice as always.” His warm breath caressed your delicate shell, and you squeezed your eyelids shut as you tried to calm your pounding heart.

Turning to meet his brown eyes, you pause to take in the subtleties of his face, which you know he will conceal once more. The slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes in his rare smiles, the curve of his lips amidst his light stubble. He blinks, and those pale eyelashes flutter along with the butterflies in your stomach.

To be one of the few allowed to see him so unguarded feels like a privilege in its own way.

Your lingering gaze prompted him to ask, “What?”

You simply shook your head with a small smile. “You smell nice too,” you replied, barely more than a shy whisper.

None of you moved. The ceiling fan whirred on ceaselessly, filling the silence with the soft snores of its motor. Outside, the rustling of leaves in the wind waved along with the thin branches that tapped on the window. Your eyes returned to his lips as if it were the only way home, and you wanted to wipe their dry surface with the touch of your tongue.

All of a sudden, the fantasy of the future plays like a presentation inside your pretty head. In the countryside of England, what would it be like if this were your wedding instead of Sabrina’s? If Simon were the happy groom instead of Andrew. There would definitely be his favorite bourbon. You’d wear this classic, timeless wedding dress with a long veil and a waterfall bouquet. His parents and siblings (if he has any) would fill the front rows to watch you exchange vows.

Would Simon want that? Has he ever thought of a wedding with a previous girl? Your heart is gripped tightly by the green monster's hand. He was your first, and yet there was someone before you and another before them. Your chest weighs with the realization that his neck has been bared on lips that aren’t yours.

While you were lost in your own thoughts, Simon was fighting his own. And before he could stop himself, he was leaning in, pressing his lips against yours in a nearly desperate kiss. Your eyes widened, mind compelled to be dragged in as he yanked your waist to bring you closer. He grunted into your mouth as he walked you back, causing your back knees to meet the bed and you to sink into the soft mattress. Your hands curled around his neck by their own accord, clinging to him like a mooring rope that kept you in place.

You weren’t the first, you know.

You weren't the first, and that fact ignited a fierce anger within you. Your fantasies, so cherished, now tear apart like shreds of tissue. The desire to be the first skin he ever touched in lust, to be his living mannequin as he explored a woman’s anatomy and poured his pornographic imagination into you... all seemed like a distant pipe dream shattered by the harsh truth of reality.

These desires... they had almost been wiped away, replaced entirely with a fierce anger and a fierce urge to rid the world of any evidence of him having touched a woman who wasn't you.

But as his tongue expertly sweeps over yours, hooking and tracing the cavern of your mouth carefully, you find yourself lulled once again. His kiss like a prophet spreading a gospel, and surrendering to him is no longer an option. You know you weren't the first, yet you present yourself to him like a willing cattle to a slaughterer all the same.

The boisterous shouting outside the room grew louder, snapping both of you out of the moment. The hurried footsteps on the creaky, old wooden floor were easily heard, before someone's voice announced, "It’s starting!" followed by complete silence in the hallway once more.

Simon was the one to break the kiss, his gaze momentarily fixed on you before shifting to the door and then back to you like a dazed person. “Sorry.” The single word escaped his lips; you're not sure what he's apologizing for.

As he moved to stand, the bed creaked softly beneath his shifting weight. Your eyes follow his retreating form, lingering on his lips, still flushed and swollen from your kiss.

“Wait,” you breathed, catching his wrist before he could turn away.

Simon’s pale eyebrows knit together in a puzzled look, but he still says nothing. Hesitantly, you reach up to swipe your thumb across his lower lip, gathering the faint sheen of gloss left behind.

You chuckled. “You've got my lipstick on,” you explain, holding up the gloss-stained digit for him to see.

The expression on his face changed from confusion to a gradual realization, and finally, a hint of amusement as he let out his own deep chuckle. Licking his lips slowly, he brought his own thumb to swipe across, searching for more residue.

“Fuckin' thing,” he grunted as if in annoyance, but the crinkle around his eyes told otherwise.

Your lips were pulled into a smile. Reaching out your hands, you asked, “Help me up?”

As he pulled you to your feet, you took a moment to smooth your gown and hair, making sure you didn’t look too disheveled from the kiss. Simon retrieved his mask from his pants pocket, hooking the strap over his ear. Slipping your arm into his once more, you both made your way from the room.

From afar, the strains of romantic music (with better taste) colored the wedding day. The sun radiated warmth, casting soft, golden rays on friends and family who had taken their seats waiting for the ceremony to begin. As you and Simon walked along the fresh, green grass, sentimentality began to burrow into your ribs.

As you walk to your seats, your eyes are glued to the side view of his sharp outline. When the light seeps through his bittersweet chocolate, transforming his iris honey-colored, the throbbing in your chest is renewed. You could blame it on the wedding—on the love and romance that hangs in the air as two people prepare to be unionized in a testimony of many. But, in truth, you know better what this is.

A ballerina twirls atop your heart, pirouetting to its rapid rhythm. The pastor has opened the ceremony with the words of God, yet you are busy with your own unspoken prayers.

Please, make him stay.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson @chipsbuttercream @arrozyfrijoles23 @pastel-devil-06 @rroseskull

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[flashbangstars]

Happy Tears - Z.C.L

Pairing: Chenle x Fem reader MDNI 18+ WC: 938

Genre: Smut

Warnings: unprotected sex (wear a condom or I will call the cops) head female receiving, biting (once! sue me) , Dacryphilia,

Authors note: none! pls enjoy!

His tongue traced the inside of your thigh and he bit down on the flesh, leaving an imprint of his teeth on the sensitive skin. the sting making the throbbing between your legs amplify

“Can you fucking stop, that will bruise” you scolded from above him

“Why, you love it though” he pouted from his spot in between your legs

Ignoring your plead, he dove back in and licked directly on your clit sucking, his mouth making a soft pop as he released.  his thumb pressing down on the spot he had bitten to make sure it bruised.

“I’ve seen the way you look at them in the mirror before you shower” he continued to taunt

You moaned unable to string together a sentence as your body twitched from his touch, opting just to flip him off instead. Replacing his tongue you felt his thumb begin to massage your clit in a circle irritatingly slow. Giving you just enough to feel good, but not to satisfy. His free hand came up to grab the hand that was giving him the finger intertwining your fingers and squeezing. 

“I don’t know why you feel the need to be so bratty when you fuck, you’re always such a good girl everywhere else,  why not keep that up now” He wasn’t even talking to you anymore, he was talking to himself as he stroked himself once, and then twice lining himself up with your entrance, pushing the tip in slightly to test your tightness 

Your thighs trying to slam together in response to the slight bit of stimulus he was providing, but he was quicker, the stretch burning as your thighs were pushed apart.

You slapped yourself putting your hand over your mouth trying to stifle the scream he pulled out of you turning your head to the side trying to bury yourself deeper into your pillow to escape his gaze. 

“Why are you running away now” he cooed and you felt his hand grab your jaw and move your head back to face him, meeting his eyes, sharp and dark. He had an unforgiving stare with these dead eyes, that he knew you thought was attractive. As soon as you had admitted that to him he used it to his advantage every time he could. He just stared at you after adjusting your face and kept his hand softly on your jaw. You wanted to jump out of your skin under the scrutiny. Wrapping your hand around his wrist and feeling tears run down the sides of your face

He was sitting fully inside of you refusing to move, playing this weird game of chicken, of who would win in giving in to the other, and you had now lost. 

“Chenle, p-please,” you asked your words sounding utterly pathetic from the overstimulation from every small movement. you twitched uncontrollably below him from the overstimulation.

A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as you gave in and satisfaction painted his face. 

“Please what sweetheart?” He rebutted acting oblivious to your pleas

You swallowed the lump in your throat and felt another onslaught of tears running down the sides of your face.

“Please move” you pleaded, your voice getting watery from the spit gathering at the back of your throat. He hummed and softly cupped your cheek admiring you, easing a small pressure squeezing your cheeks so your lips puckered  

“You are so pretty when you cry” he complimented and dragged his thumb under your eye, making the tears that had been collecting in your waterline spill over onto his finger. Accenting his movement with beginning to pull out agonizingly slow, feeling each movement and melting with the relief it was attempting to gift you.

Staring you down still, that smirk still gracing his face. He slams into you, a gasp ripping from your throat and another onslaught of tears races down the sides of your face. 

“Here you go sweetheart,” he says between huffs as he keeps up a consistent pace. Your back arching off the sheets uncontrollably and mouth agape with sounds that sound like all the letters in his name, but unable to be strung together correctly. 

His hands were at your hips now, his four fingers pressing into the back of your hips, and his thumbs pressing down on the notches of your hips. His right thumb rubs back and forth occasionally, your body hyper-aware of every point of contact you two hold

Tilting your chin down, Chenle isn’t looking at you anymore. His eyes focused on himself going in and out, his breathing was fast and you could see his rib cage expanding with his lungs taking each breath. He pauses and scoots up towards you and lifts your hips off the bed his hands relocating to your waist. 

With the new angle, your eyes rolled back and you felt each thrust more intensely than the last. You lifted one hand off the bed and reached towards him, your fingertips grazing the skin above his crotch. Swallowing the moans in your throat you opened your mouth 

“Look at me” you softly commanded.  

Chenle raised his head and made eye contact. His dark eyes were watery, tears streaming down his cheeks, and his lip red from being bitten. His eye widened a fraction from being broken from his lust-induced trance. Recovering quickly and the smug demeanor returned. Lifting your hands by the wrist and leaning in, using your fingers to wipe away the tears that had streamed down his cheeks and we threatening to fall off his jaw. You smile and rest the hand on his face opening your mouth to speak with more strength this time.

“You look so pretty when you cry”

[daisies-daydreams]

Uhhhhhhh, doggy style with Price? (reader is fem) 🫠

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader Category: Smut (18+) Warnings: Oral Sex (F!Receiving), Doggy Style, Cervix Fucking, Penis in Vagina Sex, Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex (You Know the Drill), Creampie, Praise/Dirty Talk, Spanking, Hair Pulling, Dom!Price Word Count: 1k+

Author’s Note: Hello! Thank you for your request! I can definitely see Price as someone who’d take his girl from behind. 🤭 I hope you enjoy!

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

You moaned as John licked a long, languid stripe over your slit. Your ass was raised in the air, John’s large hands spreading your cheeks as he eagerly ate your juicy, aching cunt.

“Fuck, you taste so good, sweetheart,” John groaned. You squealed when he laid a sudden smack on your ass. Not enough to sting, but enough to grab your attention. You wagged your hips as he pressed open mouth kisses to your folds.

“P-Please, John. I need you now,” you whined as you arched your back. His hearty chuckle reverberated deep into your core, sending sparks flying through your cunt. John gently tugged on your labia with his teeth before giving them a gentle peck.

“I’m here, doll. I’ve got you,” he reassured. It drove you up the wall to not see his rugged face, how his stormy blue eyes would grow with hunger for you when he’d fuck you like he usually would. How you'd grip onto his taut forearms, your legs spread wide open as he drilled his thick cock into you. But tonight was different. John came home frustrated...pissed, even. You, already pent up yourself, not so subtly offered to help him let off some steam. Thus, here you were: ass up, face down, and ready to be fucked senseless from behind.

John adjusted his hips, the tip of his cock kissing at your soaked entrance. You breathed through your nose as you heard him pump his cock a few times in his fist. Your mouth shaped into a wide “O” as his head breached your entrance. John groaned as he pressed into you, your walls greedily sucking him in. Both of you moaned as he bottomed out inside of you, his balls bouncing against your puffy clit.

“How are you feelin’, love?” your husband asked. You swallowed a lump in your throat, the fullness in your lower abdomen sending shivers down your spine.

“G-Good. So good,” you keened as his dick twitched inside of you. John grunted, his hands kneading the flesh of your hips.

“Good. You know…you look amazing like this: stuffed full of my cock from behind,” he murmured, his fingers tracing over the globes of your asscheeks. You shuddered and bit your bottom lip. “Maybe I’ll fuck a baby into you this way,” he said offhandedly. The comment made a whine bubble from your throat. He chuckled and rubbed your hips. “Would you like that? Like for me to make you a mommy?” John muttered with a sudden jolt of his hips. Your hands squeezed at the pillow, your breasts pressed flush against the crumpled, white sheets.

“Please, John,” you gasped. You weren’t sure if you were answering his question or just begging him to fuck you. Your mind was too drunk on the feeling of his cock molding your gummy walls to its shape.

“Can't leave my lady waiting,” John hummed. You whimpered as he pulled out, leaving his head snug inside. Chills ran down your spine as John slowly drove himself back into you, spreading you out deliciously. You clawed and gripped at the pillow as he rocked into you at a steady pace.

“God-you're so beautiful, you know that?” he murmured with a tender thrust. You moaned as his tip rubbed against your g-spot, making your vision blurry and toes curl. You shoved your face into the pillow to hide your loud moaning. His hand wrapped around your hair, tugging on it suddenly and making you hiss.

“Don’t you dare hide those sounds from me,” he snarled with a snap of his hips. You cried out, the succulent pleasure shooting into the deepest parts of you.

“Y-Yes,” you slurred. John grunted in approval, though he still kept your hair wound around his hand.

“I want to hear every little peep that spills from those pretty lips of yours,” he huffed. You gurgled beneath him, pussy clenching and uncleaning around his length. “Understand?” he said with another sharp tug. You nodded, your movements restrained with how tightly he held your locks.

“Yes!” you wailed when his cock drove into the right spot. He hummed.

“Good girl. Such a good girl,” he praised. You didn’t stop the cries and moans that erupted from your mouth as he picked up his pace. His heavy balls slapped against your clit, sending bolts of arousal straight into your womb.

“Love how your perfect pussy swallows my cock,” Price growled. "Fuck, you take me so well," he hissed through gritted teeth. You lurched forward as he slid his cock back into you, stretching your hole in all the right ways. You slurred out incoherently as you felt him release your hair to grab your waist, pushing your ass back to meet his hips. You quickly turned your head to the side. John's eyes were blown wide with lust, watching the way your ass would jiggle each time he thrusted into your plush, tight cunt. Wet slapping sounds filled the room as you pushed your ass back into his hips.

“You feel so good-fuck-gripping me like this,” he moaned loudly. Your walls squeezed and rubbed against his cock as he pressed himself deep inside you with each delicious thrust. Your mouth was agape as you rested the side of your head on your pillow, drool slipping down onto the white fabric.

“J-John,” you keened when the head of his dick pounded into your cervix. Your back arched as he leaned forward, his sweat-soaked chest pressed flush against your upper back. Just when you thought you were catching a break, he started to piston into you. Your throat felt torn up with how loudly you were moaning, hot tears of pleasure streaking down your cheeks. Your pussy was absolutely gushing, creating a ring of cream around his thick girth. Each slap of his heavy balls against your clit sent you closer to the edge.

“Gonna cum for me, (Y/N)? You gonna cum on my cock like a good girl?” John mused. You shook wildly beneath him, your body feeling like a freight train careening off the tracks. You clawed at the pillow and sheets as your clit throbbed, your walls tightening painfully.

“Yes, p-please don’t stop!” you begged. He groaned before snaking a hand below, pinching your clit. Your whole body tensed as you released a reverberant wail, the room growing dim to your bliss.

“Fuck,” John cursed as he felt your pussy clamp down around his pulsing length. You felt him still inside you, keening as ropes of his hot cum lathered your juicy walls. You panted below him, feeling every contraction of your walls milk him dry. You shuddered as you felt his cum leak from where he was plugged into your cunt. Your mind was warm and dizzy as you drifted down from your orgasm. John licked his lips before pulling out of you, which earned him a defiant whine.

“Shh. It’s alright, love,” he cooed as his softening cock fell from between your lips. He watched hungrily as his cum began to drip from your stretched hole. You squeaked as he massaged the red marks on your plush ass. "Oh, love. I'm sorry. Didn't realize how rough I was bein' with you," John apologized, genuine concern heavy in his voice. You shook your head and turned to him.

"N-No. I actually...liked it," you admitted, a dark shade of red crossing your cheeks. He raised his dark brows before a small, sly smirk stretched across his face.

"Yeah?" he hummed before shoving his loose cum back into your pussy with a loud squelch. You moaned at the feeling of his fingers reaching into your sensitive walls. "Well then, I guess we'll both have something to look forward to the next time I come home cross," John chuckled. You nodded and gave an airy laugh. Your eyelids began to feel heavy as he slid his fingers out. You flipped yourself onto your back, carefully to not let any more of his seed spill out of you. He smoothed some hair out of your face and kissed you deeply on the lips. His blue eyes were gentle now, watching as you smiled while he pulled away.

“I'll be right back. Gonna get something to clean you up,” John said softly. You could only nod, mind still reeling and drunk from your high. He pecked your lips before slipping through the door. When he stepped back into your room, you were already fast asleep. He smiled before sliding beneath the covers and softly kissing your temple, letting his own deep slumber overtake him.

____

Thank you for reading! ❤️

[theurgists]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ THE STORM ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

summary: restless nights come with revelations.

warnings: 18+, tully!reader, mentions of death, descriptions of death, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of childbirth, a small bit of angst, an even smaller amount of fluff, ( should be everything but if something is missing please let me know )

a/n: not much to say except a big thanks to @aemondtarqaryens for beta-reading this for me, I appreciate you friend <3 enjoy!

Soil often had centuries of stories to tell; laying dormant beneath blades of grass. Tragic tales that weaved themselves deep within valleys, grasping the roots of trees, and twirling around death to keep themselves nourished. A realm stained with maroon liquid that would seemingly rejuvenate the earth; feeding it flesh and carcass as an offering for those who had conquered, who had built on such sacred lands and birthed destruction.

In turn, erde would lap the harsh waters that sat at Blackwater Bay, raising the tides, angering the gods — old and new. It devoured those whose hearts palpitate under the scrutiny of the sweltering heat, falling victim to the ball of fire in the sky. It clawed at the remains of sanity, erasing any and every part of one’s being until flesh peels away from bone.

For the lives erde took, less was given. 

The greater the loss, the greater the greed. 

That was something your mother had whispered near the shell of your ear, her voice lilted and as smooth as honey — becoming equally sticky when it finally stuck itself between lumps of tissue that made up your brain.

She had told you to be cautious, for she would not be around much longer. Within the crevices of your soul, you knew that to be true, as she had sacrificed her entire being to keep you gentle, and strong — something she could not be. Though young, pale skin and sunken cheeks were what you gazed upon when the thinness of your fingers would swipe across her face in tender affection, you were always doing your absolute best to keep the tears at bay.

Sickness flourished in her lungs soon after; blooming from the inside, withering her away little by little until you had nothing else left to cling to. Her skeleton became fine flora and fauna on your ten-and-fifth name day, sprouting stems of green, budding willows and small clusters of lavender blooms. 

Your bones had ached with growth as the years grew harsher, and war crept close in the form of those a part of the City Watch, donned in the finest of armor and longswords sheathed at their sides when they’d march about back within the walls of safety. Imagining the blood dripping down the sharp, curved edges of their blades came easy, as you had witnessed such brutality and heard it with your ears. 

And once you were married off by your father, serenity became a craving. An itch in your gums and esophagus exceedingly stuffed with savagery so grand, the familiar taste of copper would pool in the middle of your tongue. The foreign feeling would not fade until it was acknowledged, welcomed with warm arms and an equally warm heart — somewhat naïve — just like you. 

At first, it had been bearable. Starting as a tingle on the bumped expanse of the spine, inching in every way possible, a certain desperation in how quickly it spreads, how it consumes you whole in something mildly familiar. Delusion — something you’d come to realize you would happily tangle yourself in if the soles of your bare feet weren’t absorbing the vibration from woodland grounds, greenery tucked between your toes. 

Moonlight descended upon your skin, trickling up the stretch of your arms in a dim warmth you were sure that none else would bring you. The lids of your eyes were screwed tightly, a dull throb forming in the sockets as you balled your fists at your sides. 

If there was one place you should not be, it was here, out in the open and shaded by nothing but leaves of the weirwood tree in the Godswood, the looming towers of the Red Keep filling your veins with a sense of dread. 

Misery has become you; sealed in your fate the minute you were bound to your husband — a Targaryen man with a temper as hot as coals. Though you have never been on the receiving end of his murderous wrath, you were no stranger to his sharp tongue and hasty decisions. Aemond was clouded by his loyalty to his family and the crown, and in the end, it would surely be the thing that would kill him.

A reoccurring dream would appear behind your lids on eves such as this, when the night grew colder and the violence you had grown accustomed to faded with the crickets' songs, becoming a solemn lullaby. Most nights, you’d have no qualms, resting your mind once you were cradled in the arms of your lover. But this night, sleep had yet to find you, and without Aemond’s presence looming over, scarpering was as easy as taking a breath.

A light wind swept through the air, ruffling the already creased fabric of your nightgown even further as you stared at the face carved into the tree, corners of your lips downturned in a slight frown. By now, you had committed every single piece of chipped wood to memory, eyes growing watery and skin bumpy with gooseflesh the longer you stood atop dead leaves, hearing them crunch beneath the soles of your feet as you shuffled somewhat.

Perhaps you were waiting for a beam of lighting to strike down upon you, to scorch your insides and eviscerate every single cell in your body until you become one with the earth. Either that or whisked away into the air. As of now, you had no arguments as to which one would be your fate.

Cold had nipped at the pads of your toes, a sure sign that it was time to retire to your chambers and retreat underneath the comfort of your sheets. Yet, no matter how tempting that fleeting thought was, it felt as if you were cemented to your spot, slightly swaying in place to get rid of the chill.

“What are you doing out here alone?” His voice made your spine stiffen, teeth gritting together at the low, patient tone of his voice. The clatter of his shoes reverberated throughout your ears, turning light as he joined you on the grass, shoulder nearly pressed against the left side of your back. 

Aemond’s lingering presence brought you some sort of comfort, even if it was just a ghost of a touch covered by clothing, and you found yourself longing to be in his arms. Ultimately, you kept your distance, fingers numb as you tried flexing them at your sides.

“I received a raven earlier in the evening,” your murmur came quickly, lips barely moving as your gaze blurred slightly, eyes glistening with a sheen of unshed tears. Although he does not answer, you can feel his violet eye cautiously peering at the side of your face, lips slightly pointed downward. 

“Grandfather is ill. Elmo will be lord soon.” 

Not a crease embedded itself in the muscles of his face as he continued to stare — only for a second longer before averting his eye to the weirwood tree. “We’ll make him see reas-”

Shaking your head, you finally cocked it in his direction, crossing your arms over your chest to self-soothe as you took in the sharp angles of his face shadowed by the moon.

 “He is still keeping our house banners in Riverrun. I know Elmo well enough to know he has already chosen. He’s always looked at Rhaenyra as the sole heir to the Iron Throne, and when grandfather takes his last breath, he’ll surely pledge allegiance to the Blacks.”

Your elder brother was stubborn. His skull was as thick as the fattest lords in all of Westeros, and even if it was indeed your grandfather’s dying wish to join the Greens in this war, Elmo would rather take a blade to the skin of his own throat than obey. Perhaps, that was one of the many reasons why you did not get along as well as siblings should have. Where you were meek, he was bold. Where you were sharp and quick-witted, he was dull and slow-minded. Choosing opposite sides when it came to the facet of war, of life and death, further broke a bond that was already weakly stitched together. 

Deep within, you were confident your words would fall on deaf ears, and Aemond would eventually take to the skies with Vhagar, only to find himself in Riverrun and surprise Elmo Tully with an unwanted and unexpected visit. He was married to you after all. What good of a husband would he be if not to check on the wellbeing of your kin?

Aemond sighed, momentarily closing his eye before turning his body to face you, hands snaking up to circle your forearm. “You should be resting. The maester requested that you not walk much.” 

Huffing, you swat him away, practically ripping your hand from his grasp before turning sharply on your heels. “I just need a minute, Aemond, please. I do all you ask of me, just grant me this.” 

Salt-ridden were your tears as they cascaded down your chin, dripping onto the linen of your nightgown when you clutched your swollen belly, anxiety rumbling with your little one. A throat full of sand and a broken heart was what you carried when he nodded reluctantly, taking small steps toward you until his arms snaked around your hips, coming to rest at your stomach.

He smelled of dragon; the faint scent of rose and citrus from his earlier bath still clinging to his clothing just as you are, the back of your head pressed to his chest. You focus on the low thrum of his heart, the stiffness of his body as he hums lowly.

“He spoke to me about your dreams as well.” 

Blinking, you press your lips together thinly before responding. “Now I’ll refuse to utter a word to him.” 

“Hm, yes, I would rather my wife tell her husband what troubles her.” 

“I am worried the babe might be suffering.” 

Aemond’s chest caves below your head, crisp, night air all but knocked out of his lungs at your vague concern. However, he does not move, not even when you crane your neck to stare at his clouded eye as best you can.

“When I finally find rest, blood decorates the sheets. It all starts the same. I reach between my legs and the smell of copper sours in the air, and everything feels wrong.” You shake your head, ridding your mind of such an ugly, yet recurring thought. 

There’s a fearful movement in your fingers as your nails bite into his covered arm, eyes blinking rapidly as you nonsensically continue. “Fire spreads, setting me ablaze and I watch as my flesh burns.”

Aemond says nothing, only pulls you as closely as he can manage, thumb bending to trace shapes over the clothed, stretched skin with his nail. 

“It’s merely the stress, sweetling.” His dismissal has you scoffing, warm breath hitting soundless air, eyes rolling far in their sockets when he continues. “A lot has happened within the past moon, I’m positive it's taking hold.” 

Your hands curl inward under his warm palm, the other moving to clasp over the fingers that itch your skin. “No, Aemond.” 

Foreign to your ears is your voice, laced with annoyance and fearfulness at the darkness consuming you entirely. Even in a state of unconsciousness, you weren’t safe, and as long as this babe grew bigger inside of you, you’d never be. 

Turning in his loose grasp, you clutch at the collar of his tunic, lower lip trembling as his brows furrow in concern. “Then what is it?”

In the short time you’ve come to know Aemond, you’ve always made it your goal to at least try and understand him in ways none could; whether that be through a slow blink of his eye or a quick twitch of lip, his expressions weren’t as concealed as he hoped to keep them. You could tell it peeved him to no end — having someone recognize what emotions were harbored in the center of his heart, unprotected by the rest of his shielding exterior. In truth, it would’ve been all too easy to lie and say he was quite satisfied with the way things currently were. In his mind, what little claim to the throne he had in the palm of his calloused hands amounted to nothing, especially when he had offered to seek out his brother the second word had passed that his father, King Viserys, first of his name, had succumbed to the Stranger. 

It was a striking reminder that anything, and anyone he’s ever held dear in his heart, could wither away before his very eyes. 

Including you.

His wife. The mother of his unborn child. Someone he had sworn his entire life to protect and cherish as if you were a part of him, a missing piece he had the pleasure of rediscovering.

Your revelation had hushed the dragon fire burning in his veins but emboldened the tragedy materializing in his psyche. Aemond Targaryen would never win, and that was something he would not swallow even if it had been poured into a chalice of wine.

“Helaena speaks in riddles, as if her tongue is twisted.” Tugging the pillowed flesh of your bottom lip between your teeth, you wrack the mess that is your brain of how to word your next sentence. “Death amid a storm.” 

It rolls off of your tongue, malice laced between her spoken words that have yet to leave you. Helaena was peculiar — in a sort of way, one would either deem her mad with the words that left her mouth as quickly as they had come. 

Her lavender eyes would fall cloudy, hazed with something unforeseen to anyone else but her, mind miles away, and never in the present.

“The sun rose and fell three times, and what has yet to leave with it, Aemond?”

The man before you can only part his lips, skin creasing in the gap spacing his brows, shaking hands now resting at either side of your waist as his sole eye scans the distress etched in your features. He knows. 

He can smell previous rainfall in the air, inhales it, and lets it repose his lungs with freshness he can only compare to the feeling of your skin against his. 

“The rain.” 

You nod curtly. “Exactly. And with these dreams destroying my sanity, draining the blood from my very being, how can I not believe her words to ring true?” 

The safety you had hoped the weirwood tree would bring, has not reached you, nor will it tonight as he pushes you toward the Red Keep, thin-lipped and jaw tight. “We’ll further discuss this in our chambers.”

Aemond clenches his teeth together; not out of vexation, but out of consternation. He hopes, and prays to the Seven, that everything you uttered was merely due to your worries of the babe’s nearing birth as he guides you up the steps toward one of the many halls. 

And when his lips press against your temple, right hand coming to rest on your swollen belly once again, the clouds continue their crying.

[rin-fukuroi]

𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 [𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐮𝐚𝐧]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: Jing Yuan x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, oral sex, pussy drunk, fingering.

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

I think this man is rlly capable of sucking his beloved dry, can I say this? And I doubt that anyone will mind.

Jing Yuan is truly insatiable when it comes to you. Your smell, your taste is his addiction, which he will never get rid of. His big palms will constantly rest on your sides, no matter what you do, while his face will brazenly stick into the curve of your neck, tickling your sensitive skin with disheveled hair. The General will greedily inhale your body odor, spreading a childish, satisfied smile on your shoulder, completely not caring that he might interfere with you.

No matter how you squirm and swear, his firm grip will never let you move, insistently pressing your back against his chest while his curious fingers slide along the curve of your hips. The soft fabric of his huge shirt, which he kindly allowed you to wear at home, will roll into an accordion on your belt while his fingers squeeze, massage and feel the soft flesh of your belly and plush sides.

And today is no exception. You really tried to convey to the stubborn General that if he continues to interfere with you, then cooking dinner will fall into his inept hands.

— Honey, what are you saying? You know I'm a complete zero at cooking.

He grins velvety into your neck, showering wet kisses on the soft skin, enjoying your irritated grunt while you desperately try not to hurt yourself by chopping vegetables.

And all this always precedes what is happening now.

Your hips are spread wide on either side of Jing Yuan's head, comfortably ensconced under you on your bed, smirking now into the soft flesh of your crotch, reveling in your displeasure as you irritably press your hips into his face.

— Honestly, Jing Yuan… Someday I'll strangle you in this way for your disobedience.

— It will be a glorious death, my dear.

His chest shudders with deep laughter, then slowly heaves as you feel his hot breath on your sensitive skin. A slippery, warm, skillful tongue slowly slides between your folds while strong fingers press firmly into your hips. You placed your hands comfortably on his head, running your fingers through the soft gray curls, squeezing and unclenching the shock of hair whenever his tongue teasingly touches the trembling clitoris. You hiss, writhing, sitting on his face as his tongue makes an excruciatingly languid and slow path from your shrinking entrance back to your clitoris, around which the sharp tip now circles, making you tremble and emit incoherent moans, sobs and curses under your breath.

If only you really realized how delightful the sounds coming from your lips are to Jing Yuan. His lips hungrily close around the soft flesh while his tongue wriggles and draws small circles around your sensitive lump.

Having had enough fun with the way you fidgeted impatiently on his face, one of his palms descends from your hips to allow his fingers to penetrate inside. Your nails scratch the skin of the General's head when he pretends to mumble with displeasure, sending pleasant vibrations through your body. The squelching sounds of your moisture and obscene smacking filled the silence in the bedroom as you unknowingly began to sway towards his delicious tongue and fingers, causing the poor but contented General to suffocate under the weight of your body.

He felt your walls clench so sweetly around his fingers, exulting at the thought that you were so close to your orgasm, although only recently, in the kitchen, you tried so sweetly to push him away. This game amuses the cunning General so much every time, encouraging him to do it over and over again, and although you pretended to be touchy every time, in fact, you never minded.

The salty-sweet taste of your arousal, in truth, more than satisfied Jing Yuan as an ideal substitute for even the most delicious dinner that you could cook if you weren't writhing, screaming, and cumming on his face right now.

— I could do this all day, darling, — the smug General purrs maliciously, leaving a soft, gentle kiss on the sensitive skin of the inside of your thigh. And if his strategic advantage was often flattering speeches, which were not always true, said only to distract the opponent's attention, now he was more than honest in his sugary compliments.

[lunarw0rks]

slasher!graves 🩸 in honor of spooky season !!! w/c; 2.7k

warning(s): implied violence/gore, drugging, fem!reader

endless crop fields surrounded the dirt path, crunching under the tires audibly, overbearing the hum of the pickup's old speakers. as soon as you crossed county lines, only the two local stations played: gospel or vintage country. any tuning of the knob, and it was buzzing static.

mellow country music it is. preferable to a pastor lecturing you about the ins and outs of hell. don't worry father, i'm already there. or i've made it halfway to purgatory — east Texas backroads.

though, you don't need the faceless pastor; the decaying signs along the way are enough. hell is real, God bless, repent — every single one rusted, scratched, peeled in some way.

limitless, barren farmland; half-murky swamp the further east you go.

who's feeding the lumps of livestock you see grazing? what about the herding dogs that lay by rickety fences and intently watch your car pass? if it weren't for the occasional passing truck, you'd assume no one inhabited this county at all.

your pupils retract, blinded by the sun glaring off the hood. vibrant hues of orange and yellow, that would otherwise be soothing if you hadn't been in the driver's seat so long. for once, the lack of traffic and straight and narrow is a blessing, otherwise, you surely would've caused a collision.

the blinding sunset fades over time, indicating that you drove through golden hour instead of lying back and enjoying it. though, the thought of pulling over in this area sounded like a painful ordeal.

from straight, unpaved roads to skinny windy ones with taller grass on the border. as the sky darkens, the foliage is surely full of critters, snakes, and spiders that would crawl and tickle your flesh the second you stepped foot. the thought alone makes you shiver against the leather seats.

as the tires climb a particularly steep hill, the engine sputters, as if hacking and choking from the exertion. please don't let it happen here, is all you can think. the vintage pickup creaks and moans the further along you go — but thankfully doesn't let you down. it's any wonder you've made it this far in your trip.

your fingers reach across the seat, peeling back the page of your guide. the map you snagged at the first — and only — rest stop in the area. a few pages, tainted with coffee and grime, aside from hints of its original eggshell stain. the booklet is rough in texture but still partially legible, so you decided to take what you can get.

besides, once you finished up in the bathroom, bought water, and felt the judgment of the locals, you weren't in a position to ask for a clean map. and the geriatric clerk, brandishing a crucifix and eyes so blue they could pass for pearl, staring at you with grief.

for what, you couldn't wager. your unsaved soul?

your unwise decision to stop there? at least you can agree with the latter.

at last, your finger skimmed the section of road you were supposed to be cruising on. a straight one, like you had been on before. not the thin, windy dirt you're nearly stuck in — which doesn't exist on the map. either you're trespassing in some form, or you really have gotten lost in purgatory.

muttering a curse, you twist and turn your heads in hopes of finding an opening. somewhere, anywhere to turn the truck around and get back on your intended route.

once you spot the first opening, you turn into it. the truck travels down the short path, mud squishing underneath the overworked tires.

up ahead, the first residence you've seen that wasn't moldy or collapsed. three floors, milky paneling, original windows older than two of your lifetimes, and steps sure to give you splinters and creaks under the slightest movement.

from the outside, it's... average.

only slightly unsettling at best, which was a major improvement from the rest of town. frankly, it was shocking there wasn't a higher fence around the perimeter. you imagine this property being prime pickings for bandits and adventurous country teens.

after taking in its appearance for a few moments, you begin to reverse, now feeling the most resistance in the entire trip. the harder you push your foot down on the gas pedal, the deeper the back tires go into the thick mud.

the engine sputtered louder, beginning to spit out smoke from under the hood. considering your efforts, all you'd successfully done was splatter mud on the windows and kill the engine, hopefully not permanently.

you slumped forward and lightly smacked your head against the rim of the steering wheel, cursing yourself for literally ending up deeper in the mud.

through the cracked window of the truck, the windchimes sounded, reminding you of your only way out. raising your head, you laid eyes on the white farmhouse again, taking in its mystifying essence. the decor rustled in the gentle breeze, as did the fuzzy white clusters blowing off the cottonwood trees.

against the unforgiving summer elements, the outmoded residence stood still — as if the stoic constant stuck in the middle of a brewing summer storm.

motionless and deathlike; if a tornado dipped down through the dusky clouds, you were mildly convinced the residence would be the only structure left standing.

as it stands, your options are either to sit in the truck and sulk or take a gamble and knock on the old farmer's door. deciding on the latter, you step out, not bothering to shut the car door behind you, in case you're met with a cliché shotgun barrel for trespassing.

the rickety porch creaked under your weight when you stepped up, occupied with examining its every detail. there were the chimes you heard. some were standard, high-pitched jingles — others made from small animal bones were dull clicks — all suspended with twine.

aside from the roadkill and rocking chair, there were few signs of life in terms of decor. through the windowpanes, you were only met with pearly, lace curtains blocking any view inside.

caving, you raise your fist to the door. it's slathered in the same blanched paint as the rest of the exterior, only riddled with indents and scratches from age. three small knocks against the wood, and you're hoping whoever's behind it won't lead with hostility.

the house settles and croaks from inside, its joints as noisy as the deck you’re standing on. eventually, the door opens. behind it, the owner reveals himself; and it’s not the stereotypical image of an old man with overalls and a noisy coonhound at his side.

your prediction couldn’t have been more inaccurate.

“how can i help you, ma'am?” the voice speaks, oozing a subtle regional twang. casually, he leans against one side of the doorway, blue eyes sweeping you up and down.

younger than expected, and clean despite the gritty environment he lives in. his blond locks are carefully groomed and swept, and an aroma of musk and cedarwood permeates from him.

"i don't mean to be a bother," you stammer a bit, then motion behind you. the man's demeanor remains unbothered by the intrusion. "my truck is stuck in the mud, and i was wondering if you could get it... unstuck?"

he hollows his cheeks as if taking a few moments to consider your request.

but Graves already decided the moment he saw you. with a click of his tongue, a rumble rises through his chest, "no bother in askin' for help, is there? why didn't you just say so?" a faction of a smile spreads on his lips, easing the tension in your shoulders.

you return the break in tension with a small chuckle, biting back the urge to start twiddling your thumbs. he glances at the truck, "i'll pull her out for you. keys in the ignition for me?"

you nod, and he steps out of his relaxed pose. "i would really appreciate that. thank you, sir."

but instead of stepping out toward the vehicle, he moves to the side and flicks his head. "don't mind waiting inside, do you? 'sides, young lady like you shouldn't be shivering."

you really were helpless, or at least, that's how it felt.

the desire to reject is futile and forgotten. before you knew it, you stepped inside and followed him. the entryway was quaint with only a coat rack and mat, and open to the kitchen. the gray and white tiles were patterned like a checkerboard, blended with natural wood cabinets that matched the original wood everywhere else.

in the middle, a circular dining table with two chairs, brandishing hack marks — some fresh, some old. with a scrape, he pulled out a chair for you, and you settled on it.

rather than asking first, he went straight to the vintage refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher. he reached into the ice bucket and dropped a handful of cubes into two glasses, then tipped the pitcher and filled them with lemonade.

you stopped watching when he turned, instead setting your attention on the decor. it was as average as the exterior; a country kitchen that was slightly rough around the edges. Graves slid the glass in front of you, then set his own on the opposite side, sitting instead of heading straight outside to deal with the truck.

he sighed when he sat down again, holding onto the glass but not sipping from it. for a few moments, there was silence between you; a studying stare making you feel like you were in a fishbowl. swallowing dryly, you raised the glass and took a sip from it.

lemonade, a partial punch of citrus, coaxed by tons of added sugar. you let out a polite mhm and smiled, hoping to let your courtesy break the silence again.

"gets awful lonesome out here, don't it?" the man finally spoke, and you took another gulp to pass the time. "can't say i mind the company. not a lot of tourists in these parts, i guess."

you nodded in agreement, eyes darting toward the ticking clock behind his head, "i'm sure it does." you really should be back on the road by now.

he must've noticed your eagerness, because he gave his knee a slap and sat up, "here i am, talkin' your ear off again. should only take a few minutes if you don't mind waiting here."

his footsteps retreated back down the hall, leaving you in silence except for the ticking, which now sounded louder. you glanced down at the glass and swirled it around, deciding it best to finish your drink off before you left the man's seemingly good graces.

once the front door opened and closed, you took a better look around at the kitchen. the knickknacks along the wall, and the dusty china in one of the cabinets.

further along, you skimmed past the doors leading to the rest of the home. the l-shaped staircase came down to the kitchen, steep and rickety. adjacent, was a door similar to the one in the foyer.

when curiosity got the better of you, you stood up and crept over. pressing your ear against it, you heard no one behind it; not even the drone of a television.

you wrapped a hand around the knob and twisted it, pushing the door open. it led to a sitting room of sorts, or perhaps the only living room in the farmhouse. an old-fashioned wood fireplace in the corner, a brown couch against the wall facing the back windows, and the box TV posed on an end table.

the windows had the same sheer, white curtains as the kitchen, blowing gently from the breeze outside. custom shelves covered the other wall, filled to the brim with outlandish decor.

you first stepped closer to the window, seeing his figure outside. there was your truck, still in the same position you'd left it; the door still cracked, and its tires were embedded in mud. and the man, a distance away and moving toward the red barn in the distance — a more powerful, agile stride than he'd shown with you.

thinking nothing of it, you occupied your boredom with snooping. the shelves were what caught your attention, so that's where you ended up.

standing in front of them, you scanned through every item, growing more unsettled the longer you ogled. first, it was ancestral photos old enough to be in black and white, eerie but not abnormal. then, on the second shelf, the appeared uncanny.

quaint, mason jars and teeth.

fangs from coyotes and bobcats alike, mixed with bloodied molars that only could be pried from human mouths. the sight was akin to a gnarly car wreck, causing your morbid curiosity to overtake your sense of danger.

you glanced out the window again, seeing the barn door cracked open, indicating he was still occupied. crouching down, you examined the lowest shelf. the only clutter visible was VHS tapes, thick books, and small chests and boxes.

you took the first one that caught your eye, undoing the clasps and opening the velvety chest. newspaper clippings and passages alike, and a mini-Bible lay in the mess of words.

shaking your head, you set it aside and grabbed one of the tiny boxes, taking off the lid. your blood flow went icy, and your fingers trembled as you set the lid aside and continued processing.

possessions; watches, necklaces, wedding bands, and choppy strands of all hair types. when you noticed the hair, you gasped and ejected the box from your grip.

they weren't belongings; they were trophies.

the front door creaks from across the house, then slams shut again. you scramble to put the lids back on and pinch your finger in one of the latches, reflexively dropping it. all its contents clatter against the wood floor, compromising your cover.

"find somethin' you like?"

his voice appears behind you, effectively sending you into a startle. graves glances at the mess below you, still maintaining an eerie stillness about him.

frantically shaking your head, you begin to feel sweat cake your hairline. you ball your fists and go clammy, taking steps back, "this is my fault— i shouldn't have let my curiosity get the better of me." he remains untouched by your apprehensive shift, only worsening your instinct to run.

but he doesn't lunge or creep closer; all he does is linger by the shelves.

despite how dry your throat is, you gather saliva and gulp tensely, "i should get going. long trip ahead." that's hopeless; you know he didn't move the truck. you would've heard an engine. how far could you make it on foot?

your words come out sluggishly as if your brain is working at half speed. you peer down, stepping around every morbid souvenir — though all you do is stumble, rather than make any distance.

"won't be necessary, sweetheart." his voice echoes, stance unchanging while he observes your struggle.

you grasp at one of the walls, lids drooping as your feet drag. the lemonade he never once put his mouth on, laced with some sort of sedative. it all hit you too late; too late to retch it up or bolt down the hall ahead of him.

eventually, he steps closer, watching as you make an 'attempt' to swat him away. all you do is whack your hand at the air, thoroughly wasting more of your dwindling energy. instead of words, all that comes out are slurs or whimpers of intense turmoil.

your view of the doorway tilts and twists, turning blurred and doubled the further you stagger. a swirl of nausea erupts in your stomach, causing your knees to buckle. your head collides with the edge of the coffee table, leaving you stunned.

as the tranquilizer pumps through you, the drowsiness is indomitable. you roll onto your back and cough, lying at his feet. with the last of your remaining lucidity, you tug on his jean leg, as if in one last ditch effort to get to your feet again.

despite his opportunity to kick away your pleas, Graves stands idle, his neck craned down to watch every moment of it, a sick rendition of his favorite hobby. the most noticeable sensation — the tender skin of your temple throbs from the impact, until any and all discomfort fades away.

eyelids weighed with bricks flutter shut, squirming limbs cease, and the heave of your chest slows into gentle waves of slumber.

"atta' girl."

‧˚₊ divider cred. - cafekitsune ‧₊˚⊹

[icycoldninja]

Could you please write Dante x male reader? The male reader is touch starved, because he didn't receive barely any physical affection as a child Can be fluff and/or NSFW

Yeah, sure. I chose to do solid fluff here to keep things wholesome. Here you go, and enjoy! 💜

Hug (Dante x Male!Reader fluff)

You and Dante sat on opposite ends of the couch, Dante occupied with his magazine, and you with, well, nothing.

While Dante was relaxing peacefully, minding his own business, you were nervously fidgeting with your fingers, mostly because you wanted to slide over and cuddle with him, but didn't have the courage to do so. The reason you were so uneasy was because you'd never really engaged in this kind of activity before.

Hell, you'd never even been hugged before.

Letting out a small sigh, you wrapped your arms around yourself and scrunched your eyes shut. You never knew what it felt like to be hugged by another person--the best you could do was hug yourself. A part of you was sure that Dante would gladly hold you for a while, should you ask, but another part was afraid he'd reject you.

"Hey, Y/N, what's wrong?" Dante suddenly asked, startling you.

"Nothing," You quickly lied, running a hand down your face to compose yourself.

"You sure?" Dante asked, studying your expression. "You look like something's up. What is it?"

"I'm fine," You insisted, quite moodily, folding your arms to emphasize your point.

"I don't think so," Dante chuckled, setting down his magazine and wrapping an arm around you. "Come on, talk to me."

You shook your head, averting your gaze and keeping your expression like that of cold stone. A burning lump had developed in your throat, making you doubt whether or not speaking without crying would even be possible.

"Come on," Dante urged, squeezing your shoulder a bit too roughly with his strong, but rough hands. "Don't be so cold 'n uptight! You look like Vergil!"

You muttered a few swear words under your breath, still tense and on edge. Eventually, you realized that you'd gotten yourself caught in a web; Dante would never let you go until you confessed your issues to him, and considering the strength of his grip, it would be quite difficult to escape.

"Fine," You sighed, shifting your position. "I...guess I...want a hug."

"Aww, is that all?" Dante chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. "You should've just come over 'n snuggled up to me!"

"Well....I..." You huffed out another sigh. "I don't really know how."

"What?!" Dante exclaimed, incredulously. "You don't know how to hug? That's crazy, Y/N, crazy!"

"Well, that's only cause I was never really hugged when I was a kid!" You retorted, angrily. "No one was around to hug me, so can you really blame me for not knowing how?!"

"No one ever hugged you?" Dante gasped, blue eyes wide. "Oh, baby..."

The devil hunter yanked you towards him, pressing your head against his chest; the softness of his flesh cradling your cranium, the warmth emanating from his body instantly soothing you. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his waist, holding onto him as tightly as you could.

"This is how you hug, Y/N," Dante said, ruffling your hair. "Ain't it nice?"

You nodded happily, snuggling further into your boyfriend's embrace.

"I like this," You informed him, a small smile on your face. "I--no, I love this."

"Glad to hear it, baby," Dante replied, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. "Now relax. Just close your eyes and enjoy the moment. And remember, I love ya."

Nodding, you closed your eyes and allowed your mind to wander off into dreamland, your only guide being the rhythmic beating of Dante's heart, and his soft little chuckles as he kissed your head once again, giving you a gentle squeeze after.

You might have been touch starved and physically distant, but Dante was going to fix that--he was gonna hold you and love you as much as he could until your appetite for affection was sated.

[thecapricunt1616]

The Bear & His Honey - Chapter 15

♡ Chapter Inspo: The Archer; Lover (TS) - 'I wake in the night I pace like a ghost the room is on fire invisible smoke and all of my heroes die all alone, help me hold onto you'

♡ Summary: Carmy helps Winnie out of a nightmare, Winnie makes dinner for them, they read together and have some fun time on the roof to end Carmy's day off.

♡ W/C: 7,764

♡ Posted Date: 03/24/2024

♡ A/N: Helloooo! As promised, Here is the twin for C14! The second half of their night in together :) I hope you enjoy!

♡ Warnings for BTC: Swearing, Domestic violence, Nightmares, Smut, panic attacks/talks of anxiety

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ♡

𝒲𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝒫.𝒪.𝒱. 🍯

His hand wraps tightly around my throat, gripping me so tightly that I’d have a handprint bruised into my flesh come morning. I tried everything I could to scream, my lungs and throat were burning as if I was, but absolutely no sound was coming out. 

Suddenly, I was back on the couch, Carmen knelt in front of me, gently shaking my leg, looking terrified and Ms.Mendoza my neighbor softly rubbing my arm as she sat by my side on the couch. 

“It’s only a bad dream nak” she said soothingly. I looked between them both with tear filled eyes. 

“I’m- I’m so sorry” I shook my head, sitting up, the embarrassment washing over me when I realized I was just having a nightmare.

“No, shh, it’s ok, it’s ok sunshine” Ms.Mendoza hugs me, rubbing my hair gently. “It’s why you gave me a key” she said and I nodded, sniffling a bit.  

She’d heard me having night terrors when I first moved in, she always made sure to do everything she could to wake me from them. I’d given her a key to my apartment in case of emergencies and things like this, I must have been screaming again.  

“Thank you, thank you” I whisper. Carm sits on my other side, rubbing my back gently. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here” he said softly and I turn to look at him. 

“Carmy- no. No. Don’t blame yourself this- these happen a lot. It’s just…it’s my ex and everything- Ms.Mendoza please go home, go relax yeah? Wheel of Fortune will be on soon” I told her, squeezing her arm gently. 

She nodded and picked her key up off the table, standing carefully from the couch and grabbing her cane.

“Get a good nights rest” she cupped my cheek and Carm, being the absolute angel he is, helped her back to her apartment to be sure she got in safely, before coming back, shutting the door and locking it behind him. 

I waited in the entry hall for him, and as soon as he shut the door I nearly fell in to his arms, holding him tight. “I’m so grateful you aren’t like him” I whispered into his shirt. 

He holds me tight, kissing the top of my head. “I’m glad you aren’t like her.” He mumbled into my hair, stroking my back gently. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you” I sniffled, closing my eyes and sighing softly. 

“Y’didnt, I was scared for you, not of you” he said, the timer for the food going off suddenly and I flinched.

 “ s’okay ” he said soothingly. I bit back the lump in my throat, taking deep even breaths and counting to 13. 

“Sorry” I mumble and he gently wiped my cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t be” he cupped my cheek gently and nudged my chin to look up at him. “Got y’somethin, wanna see?” He gives a small shy smile. 

I raise my eyebrows, a tiny smile on my lips. “Whatd’ya do Bear” I asked softly. 

“Go look on the table” he nods towards the dining area that I hadn’t even paid mind to in the moment. 

I turned around, gasping lightly and looking up at him as if he’d gotten me the moon on a string, a large smile adorning my face. “Oh- oh. Hm. I thought” I put a hand on my hip. “You sir” I poke his chest playfully, earning a chuckle out of him. 

“Were not the - how did you put it? mmm?” I hum, wrapping my arms loosely around his neck. 

“‘Mmm I forget” he teased “I just know that my honey had a hard day, and I like to make her feel good” he leaned in, kissing me sweetly and reaching down, grabbing my bum and squeezing. 

I hum gently, leaning my hips in to his and pressing our chests flush, feeling how wet his hoodie was and pulling away. “Baby” I said softly, pushing down his hood and gently brushing through his hair. 

He quickly takes the opportunity to kiss my neck in hot, open mouth kisses. “Hm” he hummed, his thumbs trailing up and hooking in my panties. 

“You’re all wet, and cold, you’ll get sick, cmon” I said, giggling as he bites the fleshy spot between my neck and my shoulder and grumbling playfully like an animal. 

“And seemingly a very hungry Bear” I said, causing him to laugh into my skin, all of my previous panic and fear melting away like snow on a spring morning.  

“I am cold, but Y’re warmin’ me up” he muttered in to my neck, nuzzling his cold nose into my skin.

I kissed his jaw gently, leaving a trail of kisses next to his ear. “You can wear my comfy, you’ll look adorable” I offered, trailing my hands under his hoodie and squeezing his hips. 

“The fuck is a comfy” he rests his chin on my shoulder, looking at me from the side. 

I giggled at the awkward angle. “A blankey hoodie. You’re shivering, bear. I feel it. Cmon” I laced our Fingers together, kissing his icy feeling digits. 

He sighed softly “fine.” He muttered as I drag him to my bedroom, tugging at his his hoodie to which he obliged by raising his arms and I pulled it off him in one swift motion. 

I kissed each of his moles from his jaw to his neck, lingering on the last near his collarbone. “Don’t need a sick bear” I mused, gently running my palms up his abs. 

“Y’have a drawer y’know?” I mused, opening the second to bottom drawer of my dresser swiftly, tugging out  my baby pink blanket hoodie, handing it to him 

“A drawer mm?” he hummed and he takes the offer of my outstretched hand to pull me into a heated kiss, running his tongue over my bottom lip like a man starved. 

I giggle into his lips, opening my mouth for him and humming as I feel his tongue swipe across mine slowly, relishing in the taste of me. I sucked on his tongue gently and he moaned into my mouth, squeezing my ass and spanking me gently causing the smile on my lips to grow. 

“Foods gonna burn” I said softly when I disconnected our lips, he pulls me into another kiss running his hands up my hips, squeezing roughly. 

I let a squeak of discomfort out, gently disconnecting our lips. “Gentle, Bear, please” I whispered, nuzzling our noses together gently. “My hip…it’s sore, like all the time…but especially when it rains” I said softly. 

He quickly eased his grip, rubbing soothingly over the ache and kissing my chin. “ ‘M’sorry baby.” He muttered, nuzzling his face in the crook of my neck. 

“Shh..s’okay. I-“ I swallowed thickly, “it’s me. It’s my fault”  I kissed his jaw gently and I felt him sigh softly beneath my touch. 

“It’s not a fault..never say that, honey” he gently runs his digits up the small of my back and drags his nails across my skin, causing me to shiver slightly beneath his touch. 

“Put this on” I said softly, pushing the blanketed hoodie into his chest, pulling away. “I’m gonna go plate up dinner, mm?” I pecked his lips sweetly, holding his hand until I got to the door and gently let it go. 

“Yeah..thank you- f’r..f’r cookin’ for us” he said, unfolding it and slipping it over his head. 

He looked adorable just like I knew he would. The hoodie was meant to be massively oversized, so it swallowed him the same way it did me. He pushes the oversized hood down, his sandy blonde curls ruffled by the action. 

“See this. I get not wearin’ pants. But y’re always wearin’ my shirts and no pants, babe. I dunno how you don’t freeze” he teased, wrapping his arms around me, gently kissing my neck. 

“Mmm…What got int’you Bear” I mutter, gently weaving his curls between my fingers and he stopped for a moment as I scratch his scalp, fingers gently tracing lazy circles into my flesh. 

“Why- thought y’love bein’ touched, Angel” he reached his hand underneath my heat, gently rubbing my clit between his middle and ring fingers, causing a gasp to escape my lips in lew of an answer. 

I felt my knees weaken, a soft whimper leaving my lips as I leaned back into his chest, my cheek mushed into his shoulder in bliss. “Mmm? Y’don’t like it when I touch you pretty girl?” He purred in my ear, slowly circling his fingers in the way that made me whine.

My knees shook with pleasure, he must have realized because his other arm was suddenly securely locked around my waist, leaving soft supple kisses over my collarbone. “Yes-yes…b-but dinner Carmy” I whimpered, “it’s gonna burn baby, but can we- let’s keep this going after we eat, yeah?” I said softly.

He gently nips my skin, easing the ache with his tongue quickly before leaving a languid kiss over the spot. “Fine. Go get our dinner chef” he teased and I giggled a bit, kissing his nose gently before heading off into the kitchen. 

He follows behind me, leaning on the counter as I bent over with the oven mits taking the dish out of the oven. “Mm. I should have you cook more often. But only if I get to watch” he mused as I set the bubbling dish on the stovetop, nudging the oven door closed with my hip. 

“Why’s that? You haven’t even tried it yet” I asked, grabbing 2 plates out of the cupboard and I felt his arms around my waist, rubbing over the exposed patch of my stomach that showed when I lifted my arms to grab the dishes. 

“Cause you look really good bent over an oven” he said lowly, kissing the back of my neck gently. 

I giggled “what has gotten into you baby” I hum, spooning 2 tomatoes onto each plate. 

“Nothin’ I just love being here with you” he said simply, playing with the elastic of my panties between his fingers. 

“I think you secretly love being cared for” I said, causing him to chuckle into my skin lightly. 

“Is that it?” He kisses the spot below my ear sweetly. 

“Oh” I giggled, looking at him so he could see my glasses had become all fogged. He snorts a laugh, taking them off me. 

“There you are. I can imagine with these cooking can be very inconvenient” said and I nodded a bit. 

“Yup. But it's better then my eyes being so dry that my contact falls out into a pot of boiling water. That wasn’t fun” I laughed, turning to him and offering him his plate. “F’the best Bearfriend” I teased with a giggle. 

He chuckled, taking the plate “bearfriend huh?” I opened the drawer handing him a fork and knife. 

“Mmhmm! Cause you say you don’t do well at being a boyfriend, and you’re good at being a sassy bear. So, Bearfriend.” I smiled and he leaned in, kissing my lips sweetly. 

“Y’cute, thank you f’dinner angel, really” he said before hissing me again. I hum happily, gently cupping his cheek. 

“Of course” I said softly when I pulled away. “You should let me make stuff for you more often, it’s not fair you’re always the one cookin’” I grab my plate and sit with him at the table. 

“Oh it’s not fair I do my job. It’s ok baby like I said, I love cookin’ f’you. You know you don’t have to pick stuff off the menu right? I can make you anything. It’s easy cause we have the big kitchen at work” he said and I put my glasses back on so I could see much more clearly. 

“But still. I know your back hurts you. You need to be resting more” I said, cutting up my tomatoes to let them cool a little but he goes right for it. Cutting a piece and eating it even though steam was still pouring off of his plate. 

“It does- but wow babe. Great job. I haven’t had this in a while. Y’don’t give y’rself enough credit, you know your way around the kitchen.” He said, causing me to blush. 

“Oh stop it. You’ve eaten the best food in the world, my stuff can’t compare to that” I said, blowing on my fork before taking a bite. “But Grams recipe is really good” I agree with a proud smile. 

“Mm no one’s does, baby. Those assholes…” he shook his head lightly. “It’s not even worth it. The way it tastes for the bullshit it goes into it” he said, taking another bite. “I’d eat this over that. Anytime” he said and I held his hand, gently lacing our fingers and pressing it to my lips. 

“I’m glad you aren’t there anymore. They don’t deserve someone as sweet as you” I said, blush creeping into his cheeks. 

“Thats why I can’t be there” he drops my hand, looking down at his plate. 

I pouted a bit “how do you mean baby?” I asked softly, putting my fork down. 

“I- I’m too fuckin….” He sighs deeply, tapping his leg under the table. “I-I take shit too hard like. I dunno. I’m a fuckin-“ he shook his head lightly, swallowing thickly. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, Winnie.” He muttered. 

“Carmy…you said it yourself. Those guys are fucking assholes. They- they hurt you. You aren’t that way, I know you don’t want to hurt people. So the fact that you care about yourself, you care about the way you’re spoken to? That sets you apart from them, baby.” I gently rub his arm. “Don’t let their stupid bullshit ruin our super awesome dinner, yeah? You’re a way better chef than them anyways.” I added, gently taking his hand again and he squeezed it. 

“Thank you, baby.” His eyes met mine again and he leaned in, kissing me softly and gently cupping my chin.

When we finished dinner, he insisted on doing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen. ‘The cook never cleans’ he insisted, which made me giggle considering I’d found him before after closing, on his hands and knees scrubbing the grout of the kitchen with a tiny brush. 

I still managed to convince him to allow me to sit on the counter, drying the dishes as he washed them. “So in school, what was your favorite class? Was it home ec? That’s what they called cooking class in my school.” I asked as I dried off one of our plates. 

“Yeah, I only got it in high school though. But it was more like…the only class I was advanced in I guess? Cause they only really showed us how to do really simple shit. And alotta the other kids struggled, but I grew up in a restaurant so.” He shrugged, “liked it cause it was the only class I didn’t look like an idiot” he hands me the bowl he’d rinsed and I poke his ribs with my foot. 

“Carmy. You’re like the smartest man I know. No one was that smart in high school. Also- math and science are totally hard. I was only good at English and history, and in home ec I burned pasta.” I giggled, taking the bowl and he rolls his eyes playfully. 

“Yeah sure. But I see all y’r books n’ stuff. Y’re actually smart. I just. I’m smart in the kitchen, not really anywhere else. But it’s ok, cause all I need for my job is the talent I already have” he shrugged a bit, working on the dish I’d cooked the tomatoes in. 

“Well you could read, y’know? I’m not smart because I read. I’m smart- well you think I’m smart - even though I don’t think I am, because I choose to read. You can read baby, very well. Cooking is a lot of reading, And you’re better at math then you think you are. Converting recipes can go really wrong and Syd says you can literally do it in your head. I know you don’t have a lot of time but why don’t we read?” I ruffle his hair playfully. 

“I honestly…can’t remember the last time I actually sat and like…read. Without being forced? But uh…sure. You have any recommendations?” He asked and my face lit up. 

“Really? Really? You’ll read? With me? Like- today? Together?” I asked excitedly and he looks over at me, brow raised in confusion. 

“Yes? Of course baby, If it’ll make you happy then I’d love to-“ I cut him off with a deep kiss, pulling him close and curling my fingers in his hair happily, smiling into the kiss. 

“Thank you, thank you. None of my friends read and I’ve been dying to just sit and read with someone” I rest my forehead on his, kissing the balls of his cheeks with short butterfly kisses. 

He chuckled a bit “baby of course. I’m sorry angel we could’ve done this sooner- I didn’t know you like it that much” he said, shutting off the water since he was finished with the dishes. I wrapped my legs around him like a koala, kissing his forehead sweetly. 

“It’s my favorite thing, next to you, of course. In this world currently, my favorite pass times are spending time with you and then, reading” I smiled, kissing his brow bone and he hummed, nuzzling his face in the crook of my neck and kissing the skin gently. 

“Wow so you get two of your favorite things t’day? What a lucky girl” he eased me forward, gently lifting me off the counter. “Where to baby?” He pecked my chin. 

“The luckiest girl- To the library!” I giggled, wrapping my arms loosely around his neck and he padded over to the door, nudging it open with his hip. 

“Alright. Here we are” he set me down gently and I went over to one of the shelves, gently brushing my finger over the titles as I looked over them. 

“So what are you feeling baby? Somethin scary, fantasy, I have a lot of self help books, oo!” I pluck one of my favorites off the shelf. “The Body Keeps Score - this is a great one baby. I learned so much about my panic attacks and stuff from this. But I get it if you don’t wanna think about that today” I offered it to him and he took it from my hands, thumbing through the pages adorned with tabs where I’d annotated things that stuck out to me. 

“What are the little flags?” He questioned, opening to one of the pages with a few of them. 

“They coordinate to highlighter colors. So this one I have pink blue and green, pink means something that I like- really resonated with and it made pieces click for me. Blue is science stuff where the author explains why you feel the way you feel, and then green is stuff that I genuinely don’t understand and want to go back and research more myself. You can just ignore them I’ve read this book a lot so it’s really marked up.” I said and he nodded, looking over the back. 

“Okay, yeah, I’ll do this one” he nodded. 

“Perfect! Oh I’m so excited for you to read it Carmy. I really think it’ll help you, okay sooo” I tap my chin as I turned back to the shelf. “Mmm” I hum as I took out one of my books that I was still stuck in the middle of. “You’ll inspire me to keep going. I’m getting bored in this one but the beginning was really good, I’ll do this one” I said and went over to the pile of blankets and pillows on the floor in the nook of the room next to the window. 

“Why are you still reading it if it sucks now?” He questioned, sitting down and leaning up against the wall. I laid down on his chest, looking up at him. 

“Cause like I said- the beginning was fire. I’m just bored now because they’re doing world building. But it’s necessary for the story.” I said, opening to the page I’d left on and setting my hot pink ‘Bad Bitches are Bookworms’ bookmark on his thigh. 

He huffs a laugh, my head moving at the action and I look up at him “yes?” I giggle a bit. He shook his head with a grin. 

“bad bitches are bookworms- perfect bookmark for you” he pecks my lips before sitting back and opening the book to the first page.

“Yes! And you’re part of the bad bitch club now, welcome to your initiation” I joked, tucking my knees up and resting the book on my thighs as I read.

“Sorry- did you…” he started after a few moments. “Sorry- sorry..I’ll shut up sorry for interrupting” he blushed and I smiled a bit, poking his cheek.

“Ask me baby, thats the point of reading together- especially books like that, It’s easier to process with someone you trust” I said and rested rub his leg gently.

“It says- like” he cleared his throat nervously. “Did- did you- like…do you have any alcoholics in your family?” he asked and I nodded. 

“My uncles, My grandpa, My Aunt Sue, she actually died from liver failure My mom was on the downward slope when I left. I don’t keep big bottles around cause I’m already genetically at risk and don’t trust myself. Why, you know an alcoholic?” I asked, resting the book on my tummy so I wouldn't lose my spot and lacing my fingers together.

“Yea- uh…Yeah..” he said, his eyes flicking back to the book, continuing to read without saying anything else. 

“It’s true, what they say- one in four” I said, continuing to read my own book.

It was about 15 pages of my own book before he spoke again, “Babe-” he snorts a laugh and I look up at him “This is making me feel like more of a pussy- this whole first chapter is about guys who went to fuckin war and shit - so why am I relating to how they feel? I keep askin’ myself, what the fuck would I have done if I had to go do shit like that when I can barely handle the training I went through to be a chef?” he asks bluntly and I sit up on my elbow, looking at him.

“I relate to them, too. Their nightmares, how they feel they failed their plattoon because they survived - the part about the guy saying he refused to take pills that would eliminate his nightmares that had been plaguing him- because even though it was torture- it was the only time he got to see his brothers. His best friends. Thats how I feel about Chris. If- if…if its just- the accident, in my nightmares, or never seeing him? Ever again? I will never let him go. It’s- it’s like he said…like a gravesite almost. You’re keeping them alive even if it’s at the cost of your sanity in a way. Am I a pussy, Carmen?” I asked.

He shook his head, gently cupping my cheek and rubbing his thumb over my cheekbone. “No. No, honey. I-I get it…I get that.” he nods, “I-I dunno…I just felt bad..’cause I…” he looked down at the page he’d been reading. “This guy…he said he wants t’love his family, and he-he can’t and that’s how I felt when I came home” he said quietly, his hand dropping to his lap and nervously playing with the sleeve of the sweatshirt.

“Because- y’re probably afraid to lose them.” I held his wrist, gently squeezing. “Y’lost Mikey, and sometimes our brain tells us if we freeze everyone out and let ourselves be numb, that if there's a next time- it won't hurt so bad. Y’re protecting yourself, Carmy.” I rub his wrist soothingly. 

He nods a bit, looking down at me. “I really don’t wanna lose you, Win” he said quietly, putting his book down and pulling me into his lap. I settled my knees next to his hips, sitting down comfortably on his thighs and wrapping my arms around his neck, hugging him close.

“ ‘Mnot goin’ anywhere, never ” I kiss his jaw gently and nuzzled my face in his neck. He let out a small satisfied sigh, wrapping his arms around my back and rubing slow languid strokes up and down my spine. 

“I promise I’ll try to not fuck up, I really love this Win” he mumbled into my skin, leaving sweet lingering kisses on my collarbone.

“Baby, we’re both gonna fuck up. But you’ve already proven that y’re willing to push yourself to be together, that’s enough for me to not just give up and leave” I look at him, gently pushing his curls out of his eyes and combing my fingers through his hair.

His eyes fluttered shut, gently kissing my forearm when it brushed his face as I raked my nails over his scalp. “It’s…easy with you” he said softly, pushing his hands under his shirt I was wearing and ever so gently rubbing his hands over my hips.

“Whats easy baby” I asked, pressing little kisses all over his face

“Talkin’ t’you..I know thats weird- sorry” he blushed a bit and I smiled at his shyness, placing a sweet kiss to his lips.

“No, it just means were good Carmy, it’s easy to talk to you too.” I cupped his cheeks gently, kissing his browbone lightly. 

“Is it-” his eyes flutter open, looking at me “Is it like…weird that I’m like…” he blushed, smiling shyly. “Kinda..turned on right now” he asked quietly and I giggled, rolling my eyes playfully.

“No, it’s so sweet baby- you like being close, theres nothing wrong with that.” I gently play with a curl at the base of his neck. “I can always go for some playtime with you especially, you ever hooked up on a roof before?” I kissed his neck with hot open mouth kisses, gently taking the skin between my teeth.

“Fuck babe- no, I-I haven’t won’t people see?” he questioned and I sat up, looking out the window. 

“No- well, we like to fool around a lot so the sun will probably be down before you fuck me” I said, connecting my lips to his neck once again and running my hands up the front of the hoodie, relishing in the feeling of his muscled skin beneath my touch.

“W-what if someone comes up?” he stutters as my hand finds its way into the waistband of his sweatpants, lightly rubbing over his hardening length.

“No one goes up there, baby. It’s for maintenance the only thing up there is the water pumps and the AC shit. C’mon- wont it be fun and romantic to fuck with the sun setting behind us?” I kissed his jaw gently, rubbing my thumb over his tip clothed by his boxers, earning a hot whine from him. 

“Fuck, fuck- fine, c’mon” he squeezed my ass telling me to get up and I giggled happily, Getting up and going over to my room quickly putting on sweatpants and a hoodie, Carmy comes to the room as well, slipping the pink blanket hoodie over his head and tossing it to the bed.

“What? Y’dont think its cute?” I teased and he chuckled, grabbing his plaid brown jacket and buttoning it so you couldnt tell he didn’t have a shirt on underneath.

“I’m takin’ my shirt back once I get it off you” he said, slipping his sneakers on and I put on my moccasin shoes grabbing my keys from my purse.

“And guess what, I’ll rob you back tonight when you take it off for bed” I kissed his lips on my way out of the bedroom, grabbing his hand and pulling him with me to the front door. 

“It’s a win win f’me I love you wearin’ my stuff baby, it’s just when y’leave me naked, thats when it’s a problem” he teased, holding me from behind as I locked the door.

“A problem for who? I mean..you I guess if it’s cold, but every girl in this building should be thanking me - the chance of seeing you shirtless is like- a golden opportunity of eye candy” I mused, lacing our fingers together as I led him to the stairs at the end of the hall, bouncing up the 6 steps that led to the roof and pushing the door open.

He chuckled, following me up the steps. “Wow” he said softly when he saw the view of the sunset. 

“Feel free to smoke, I need to” I said, pulling my little preroll tin out of my pocket and sitting down on the stone ledge of the roof, dangling my other leg off the side of the building like I usually did when I was up here. 

“Woah- ok, don’t like that, honey. A strong breeze could come and knock you off” he said seriously, sitting behind me and securely wrapping his arm around my waist, causing me to laugh. 

“Oh my god Carm, Sure- i’m not 5 foot but im surely over 100 pounds, i’m fine I do this all the time” I said, leaning into his chest nonetheless and resting my head on his shoulder.

He wrapped his arm around my waist after he got his cigarette lit, gently rubbing over my ribs with his palm.”Mmm’ still not feelin’ good ‘bout it. I’ll stay here, thanks” he mused, taking a drag and blowing it away from us.

“It’s nice up here, quiet” he said after a few beats of silence, squeezing my side gently.

I nodded a bit against his shoulder, taking a drag of my preroll. “Favorite part about spring is the sun sets at 8, so I come up here after dinner and will read until its too dark. It’s what sold me on this place, even though I can hardly afford it. Fuckin’ therapy and shit“ I muttered, ashing my joint over the ledge before taking another drag.

“Why? Y’boss not payin’ y’enough baby?” he questioned, rubbing over my hip gently.

“No- no…he probably pays me too much if i’m honest..the uh- the therapy? It’s like… its a special kind of therapy, but insurance doesn’t cover it, so I dump alot- most of my money into it…But its the only thing that keeps me like…sane- so. I just deal with it.” I shrugged a bit, taking another long drag. 

“Well…y’can always live w’me” he kissed my neck gently and I giggled, poking his cheek. 

“Carmy. You’ve known me all but a month.” I smiled, resting my hand over his that had made home on my stomach. 

“Mmhmm? And?” He questions, causing me to giggle. “You can be my little decorator. I could use some help, my house is like…empty other then necessities” he chuckled into my skin and I look back at him. 

“Don’t tell me you’re living like a frat boy” I teased, taking a drag. “Is that why I haven’t been over your house? Please tell me you at least have pillowcases baby” I said and he blushed, looking away. 

“Ok- I do. But. They’re dirty and I took them off and haven’t washed them cause I don’t sleep in my bed” he smiled sheepishly and I laughed. 

“No wonder you sleep like a brick whenever you’re over here. We need to go shopping baby, you can’t depend on me for a good night sleep. What’s gonna happen when I go to The Hamptons this summer for my Nanny Job?” I questioned and he froze, looking down at me seriously. 

“Where? Wait- what?” He sits up a bit and I turned around, facing him. 

“I didn’t tell you? Yeah I- I take a break off of therapy for 8 weeks during the summer to go nanny for this family. I’ve been doin’ it since like- I was 16? 17? Somethin like that. It’s like- the most money I make all year.” I said, ashing my joint. 

“When do you leave?” He questioned, grabbing my other hand and lacing our fingers together. 

“May 20th, I come back July 15 because they do this summer camp thing until August before school. I’m sorry baby…I’ve been doin’ it for so long I guess I forgot to mention it.” I said, rubbing the back of his hand gently. 

“Y’really leavin baby? F’r…8 whole weeks? That’s- that’s too long.” He pouted a bit, squeezing my hand. 

“Mmhmm. 8 whole weeks. I think it’ll be good, missin’ eachother isn’t all bad. Just think of how good the sex will be when I come home. And now nice it’ll feel to cuddle again.” I kiss his lips gently. 

“Well now I’m gonna be sad” he wrapped his arms around me, kissing my jaw. “How can I enjoy this time with you I feel like there’s a fuckin…a fuckin’ timer over my head now. What if you…” he sighs softly. “What if you meet someone there?” He mutters and I smiled a bit, putting out the butt of my joint on the stone and getting up, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and pulling him into my chest. 

“Baby I’m gonna be counting the days to come back to my best bearfriend ever. I’m not gonna have eyes for anyone else, promise” I said and he flicked the rest of his cigarette off the roof, wrapping his strong biceps around my thighs and lifting me up causing me to giggle. 

“How am I gonna manage t’remember to take a break without you honey” he wraps my legs around his hips, resting me against the brick wall and kissing my jaw, nipping gently. 

I hum happily, resting my head back and eyes fluttering shut. “Well for starts, don’t think y’getting rid of me, I’ll be calling and we’ll be talking same time we hang out.” I gently scratch his scalp with my nails earning a satisfied soft moan from him. 

“I was hoping so, and what am I gonna do not being able to play with these f’what. 2 months?” he pushes my hoodie up, exposing my breasts to the chilly evening air, causing my nipples to perk up. 

“You have an imagination Carm- oh god” I breathe out, my eyes fluttering shut as he flicks his tongue over my nipple, gently kissing over the sensitive bud, playing with my jewelry with his tongue before taking it in between his teeth and tugging gently. 

I whine out, my back arching into his touch “mmm- fuck Carmy that feels so fucking good” I whine as he pulls at my nipple with his teeth, pulling away with a pop an looking up at me hotly as he flicks his tongue over the bud, every touch going straight to my core. 

“God - fuck- you’re so fucking sexy” I said as he sucks more of my breast in his mouth, massaging the other with his hand angling his hips to keep me sat on the wall. “Fuck- need you Bear. The- the fuckin” I point fervently. “Shit. The ac boxes. Fuck me please” I begged, tugging his hair gently. 

He gently lifted me further on his hips, walking over to them and laying me on top, pulling me to the edge and tugging my sweatpants down, “sit up” he orders and put the sweatpants under my head as a makeshift pillow when I obliged. 

I laid back comfortably “y’sure baby?” He asked and I nodded. 

“Always, c’mere” I rested on my elbows and connected our lips once again, opening my mouth for him and moaning a bit when I felt him drag his fingers over my now soaked panties. 

“Shit baby” he muttered, holding his fingers up to where I could see they were glistening with my arousal. I took his hand, slipping his fingers in my mouth and looking up at him to gauge his reaction. I swirled my tongue around the digits, moaning softly at the taste. 

“Holy fuck” he said softly, pushing his fingers further down my throat, he hummed in satisfaction when I swallowed around them, my eyes fluttering shut in bliss. “Good fuckin girl” he grumbled, pulling his fingers out and pushing my panties to the side, rubbing my clit in quick circles. 

My head dropped back, foot coming up to balance on the edge to spread my legs wider. He took my foot, resting it on my shoulder and kissing my ankle as he slipped one finger in. I whine in pleasure as he curled, in search of that special spot. 

“Yes- yes fuck- I’m good I’m so good- say it again Carmy” I moaned out, one hand travelling down and rubbing my clit as he added another finger, pumping his wrist faster, wet lewd squelching noises getting louder as I got wetter and wetter. 

“My good girl. Y’re my good girl, angel” he said hotly in my ear, humming proudly when I writhe and squirm beneath him as he curls his fingers against my gspot, my legs beginning to shake and core tightening. “Thaaaats it honey good fuckin’ girl. Cum on my fingers princess” he mumbles into my neck, holding me up against him with his other forearm, our chests flush together as he leaves a mark on my neck. 

“Ah- I’m- yes bear!” I squeak out, my eyes squeezing shut and mouth dropping in bliss as that line in my middle that had been winding higher and tighter snaps. Fireworks of pleasure shooting from my core through my legs and stomach up through my chest as he works me through my orgasm, thighs shaking and strings of swears, praises, and whines leave my lips all jumbled and slurred. 

He removed his fingers, causing me to whimper at the loss of sensation, and my eyes fluttered open to see he was sucking on the 2 fingers that had just been inside of me, eyes shut in pure bliss. “Holy fuck Carmy.” I said, my core twitching at the absolutely sinful sight. 

“Sorry- y’taste fuckin amazing babe.” He said and I nod in agreement. 

“It’s fucking hot- can I taste? C’mere” I tug his collar and he gives me a devilish grin. 

“Yeah? Y’wanna taste yourself sweet girl? Open” he said. My cheeks heat, thinking he was gonna stick his fingers in my mouth again. I shut my eyes expectantly, and moan when I felt him grab my face and a hot large drop of saliva fall onto my waiting tongue. 

My eyes fluttered open, looking up at him surprised. “Sorry- should I have asked?” He blushed a bit. I closed my mouth, enjoying the taste of us both for a moment before swallowing. 

“Please do that every time you eat me out. I’m on fucking fire right now, Carmy, fuck- I’ve never even thought about that holy shit. Can you do it again?” I asked, opening my mouth and looking up at him pleadingly.  

He chuckled a bit, “greedy girl” he said, growing quiet for a moment as he gathers more saliva before leaning in and spitting it into my awaiting mouth. I smiled gratefully, sticking out my tongue to let him see before swallowing it happily. 

“Fuck every time I think somethin’ll freak you out you prove me wrong, little weirdo” he teased and kissed me hard, I giggled into his mouth, gently tugging his curls between my fingers.

“Mm- nothin’ you could do would ever freak me out, the weirder the better” I gently push his sweatpants down enough so his cock sprung free, tip glistening with precum. “Not the only one who’s excited mm?” I teased, running my forefinger up the throbbing vein that ran underneath it- giggling a bit when it jumps at my touch. “Sensitive are we?” I teased and he pushed my shoulders so I’d lay back. 

“Y’re in no position t’be teasin’ about sensitive” he pushed the head of his cock between my heat and my panties, rubbing himself through my wetness. I moaned out, realizing the platform I was laid on was the perfect height for our hips, so Carmy wouldn't have to bend at some uncomfortable looking angle.

“Oh- fuck - wow Carm- that feels fuckin amazing holy shit” my head drops back onto my sweatpants, whining as the tip of his cock runs over my clit. 

“Fuck- these are fuckin’ soaked honey” he pulled my panties to the side, lining himself up and pushing the tip in. I whined out, grabbing his hand to ground myself at the stretch.

“S-so big” I whimper, my back arching and hips eagerly lifting to try and bury more of him inside of me.

“Y’can take it, my good girl- you love takin’ this cock, mmm?” he said and I laid there, already fucked dumb, jaw dropped, nodding stupidly.

“Yes- yes- i’m yours” I manage to whine out, moaning loudly when he shoves up my sweatshirt and takes my nipple into his mouth again, sucking on it roughly as he thrusts deeper into me. I clenched around him, already feeling that cord in my middle becoming tight once again. Only he could bring me to the edge this fast.

“Yeah? Y’mine baby? Mm?” He hoists my other leg onto his shoulder, holding up my hips and head falling back in bliss as he bottoms out, thrusting in to me with short hard strokes, each one the head of his cock driving into my gspot, causing my eyes to roll back and grunts of pleasure to leave my throat.

He chucked a bit, snapping his hips quicker causing me to squeak in pleasure, my back arching up harder letting out sobs of pure ecstasy. “I-I’m coming i’mcoming- fuck carmy i-ah!” I sqeak out, tears pricking my eyes as my second orgasm crashes over me, Carmen holding my hips still as he chases his own high.

“Fuck- ah- I’m s’close angel just, mmm shit-” he growls as my walls flutter around him, his thrusts becoming much sloppier and less consistent. 

“Yes- yesyesyes Bear - fuck- fucking cum in me please baby” I begged, lacing our fingers together and kissing his knuckles sweetly.

He rested his forehead on mine, kissing me deeply and groaning into my mouth as he spills inside of me, getting a few more hard thrusts in as he rides his high, panting hotly, gently wrapping my leg around his waist and pushing himself deeper causing me to whine into him, sucking on his tongue gently.

We made out like that until he was fully soft, his cock eventually slipping out causing me to whine at the sudden gaping empty feeling. “That was…fuck, Bear - like every time we fuck- you impress me more” I said, causing him to chuckle as he fixed his sweatpants and grabbed mine from behind me, gently helping me into them.

“Thanks? I guess? Did I like…suck the first time er’ somethin?” he questioned, causing me to laugh a bit.

“Fuck no baby, I mean like- you’re better then I’ve ever had. I-I didn’t like…realize I had a spit kink till you did that t’me. I love it. I’m like…still thinking about it.” I blushed a bit, moving over so he could sit next to me. 

“Thats a kink?” He questioned, taking his cigarettes out and lighting one, wrapping his other arm around me as he smoked.

“Mmhmm- I have a BDSM book, we should look at it together and learn some stuff. I haven't really looked at it too much, but I have a few pages dogeared for stuff I wanna try” I gently brushed his curls from infront of his eyes.

“I just thought I was a nasty fuck, I mean- I thought it was hot, like in porn- I saw this guy, he spits on his girls pussy ‘n stuff before he eats her out…I didn’t know if you’d like it- but dirty stuff is like…hot t’me I guess” he said and I smiled, resting my hand over his.

“You aren’t nasty- thats hot baby…I dunno why I never asked, what kind of porn do you like?” I rub my thumb over his fingers as he took a drag of his cigarette.

“Uh…well- real shit- they call it like.. amateur? Which feels weird t’me, but like…I don’t like scripted shit. I also don’t- Like..not in t’guys at all so I cant focus if im watching a girl get fucked if like all im seein’ is some guys dick. So- I usually watch like…girls getting of - er’ er like…getting eaten out. I dunno” he blushed, eyes fixed on the ground shyly.

“Thaats why” I giggle a bit and he looked at me, eyebrows scrunched together.

“Thats why what?” he questioned and I smile.

“You eat pussy like a fuckin champ- You must be takin’ tips without even realizing it. Really Carmy, y’re like- fuck - the way you eat pussy is insane- its..like the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen” I laughed a bit at how dramatic it sounded but it was nothing but truth.

“It’s not hard- y’just gotta pay attention is all. Can’t imagine its harder then suckin’ dick” he shrugged, taking another drag of his cigarette.

I laughed a bit, eyebrows raised. “Sucking dick is crazy work- are you kidding? Theres virtually no reward other then the sexy noises you make. Other then that, im gagging and crying and choking on your dick, my chin is covered in spit- I probably look insane” I giggled and he shook his head.

“Ok, then maybe its not as hard, but- you look hot as fuck when y’suck me off. Are you kidding me baby? When you look at me and y’re eyes are all teary- its so fuckin sexy” he pulled me into a kiss and I smiled, relishing at the taste of smoke on his tongue.

I pulled away a bit, “You’re the only guy i’ve ever like..enjoyed going down on.” I kissed his chin gently and we both looked up as the door swings open and I rolled my eyes, just my luck.

“Oh- Uh, sorry. Gotta switch over the units from heat to cool, y’guys shouldnt be sittin up there anyway” he maintenance man said and I sighed, hopping off and taking Carms hand as we passed the man. 

“Careful- could be slippery over there sir” I joked, causing Carm to chuckle and squeeze my side with his hand as we walked back into the building.

➵ 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ♡♡

[calmcoldevening]

Vampire!Eric Draven x reader, part 2

Eric's hands gently slid over your cheeks, caressing the skin that turned pale with fear. His sharp nails dug unpleasantly into your flesh, causing the scarlet blood to flow down your face like lingonberry juice.

Your name came out of his pale, dead lips like a prayer appealing to the mercy of God himself.

"Please stop... You're scaring me, sir," you whisper softly, looking up at the man with doe eyes. Small crystal drops of tears threatened to fall down your trembling eyelashes.

Eric's heart seemed to skip a beat. He, a bloodthirsty dead man and a bloodsucker, was hurt in his soul by your words. Although he had a soul, that was certainly a question. A whole flurry of emotions flashes in his eyes before he finally speaks.

"You.. are afraid of me?" The voice is deep and hoarse.

Eric was still holding your face tightly, his facial expressions became expressionless for a moment, almost emotionless, the former smell fell from his anxious soul, as if he had been doused with cold water, sobering his thoughts.

In response, you give a short nod.

The words rise in his throat like a painful bilious lump. He gives a nervous laugh. The man lets go of your face, taking a few slow steps back. He looks at your face with disbelief, as if he saw a ghost in reality. You hug yourself with your arms.

"You're afraid.. of course.. of course you're afraid," he mutters, shifting his gaze to the floor. Eric's lips curve into a nervous smile. He buries his fingers in his own hair, muttering rapidly to himself.

"Do you know why I'm here? In this damn mansion, with your portrait? For centuries I have lived here and waited for you. My soul was pining. I was waiting for you to come back. I was waiting for my beloved, my wife..." he squeezes his own hair, some strands remain in his tight grip, "I think I'm going crazy... I'm so lonely and I miss you. So much, my rose. It's just unbearable."

The man takes advantage of your confusion in changing his behavior and comes closer. He kneels convulsively, hugging your legs and stroking your hips.

"My rose.. sweet. I remember hundreds of thousands of times you comforted me like that.. It's really you, my dear beloved. Why is fate so unfair? Why does she always take you away from me?"

"If so.. then why don't I remember anything?"

Eric lets out a short grunt, "You're human. What used to be, what is now... Human life is too fragile to load it with memories of a past life, that would be.. almost painful."

The man looks up at you, pressing your body closer to him in a protective manner.

"But I can help you remember, my rose.."

***

You didn't remember how you agreed, but now you were sitting on a chair in the living room. The room was spacious, still stained with dark paint. Your eyes come across an extinct fireplace, the firewood in it is covered with a large layer of dust. Apparently, it has not been used for a long time. And everything in this room looks strangely abandoned.

Eric was sitting in the chair opposite. You were separated by a small coffee table.

"I need you to believe me now and not be afraid," he says with a slight smile, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

You nod. He picks up the bottle from the table, carefully pouring the contents into a glass. The glass is slowly filled with a viscous cherry liquid. He pours about half of it and immediately hands it to you.

"Come on, my rose. Take. You need to drink every last drop, okay?"

You grab the glass with both hands, awkwardly staring into the red liquid. It didn't look like an ordinary wine. You carefully raise the glass to your lips, feeling the cold thick liquid slowly trickle down your throat. Your senses are filled with a metallic taste, a little bitter, but tolerable. Eric looks at you with a gentle smile, seeming to enjoy the picture in front of him.

"That's it, my rose. Drink my blood to the last drop."

Your eyes widen in mute shock, but you try to put this thought out of your head. When the glass is empty, you put it on the table with a trembling hand. An unpleasant burning sensation appears in your stomach, and you cover your mouth with your hand, holding back the urge to vomit. Your body is getting strangely weak, getting heavy.

Eric gets up from his seat, noticing your condition, and slowly comes closer. He picks you up in his arms in a wedding style, kissing you on the forehead. You do not resist, your body painfully goes limp in his strong grip, you put your head on his chest, covering your eyes.

"That's it, darling."

You don't know where he's taking you, but you feel strangely calm in his arms as you slowly drift off to sleep.

***

You woke up in a dark room. The curtains are tightly closed, and only a few candles rest on the bedside table. You slowly open your eyes. Your head is throbbing painfully, and your body feels leaden, your limbs were so heavy and numb. Your vision is blurry, but you realize that you are lying on the bed. Your fingers dig into the dark sheets. It seemed like all your senses had been heightened hundreds of thousands of times. You can hear the distant cawing of a crow, probably miles away from the mansion. Your eyes glide over the strange shadows on the walls. Your whole being is filled with the scent of sandalwood and wood, mixed with the metallic taste of blood.

"You're awake, my darling," a low murmur with a hint of amusement comes from the right, and your head moves quickly towards the source of the sound. Eric. He was sitting in an armchair next to your bed with a now closed book. A warm smile is visible on his face. His hand slides to your hand, caressing your skin with his thumb. His touch felt strangely pleasant.

"I've been waiting for this moment for centuries, my rose."

Just an affectionate pet name causes you a new headache attack. Various images and people flash through your mind. Memories scroll through your heavy head one by one.

The man grabs your hand and pulls you towards him. You obey without hesitation. You looked like a newborn baby in an adult's body. A baby crying in the dark. So many sounds, thoughts, smells. And at the same time it seemed that you were in your place for the first time. Your body fits in his lap now. Eric hugged you to his chest, stroking your back.

"It may hurt at first, but it will pass, my darling."

In response, you give a short nod. Eric looks down at you and gently touches your chin. He opens your lips a little. His thumb slides over your teeth, getting small scratches from your sharp fangs.

"That's it, my rose. Nothing will separate us now, won't it?"

Your dead heart is filled with a strange longing. You wind up your hand and his soft dark hair, slightly squeezing and tilting his head closer to you. Your lips cover him in a sweet kiss.

You were finally home. And Eric was here. Your Eric.

[chaotic-orphan]

hiii!! so i am asking (reaaaally nicely) if you are able to continue 'intoxicating fear'? its so good and your work is amazing. thanks for your time <333333

-athena (@andtheysaidspeaknoww

Intoxicating Fear — part X

ATHENA?! BADASS IN THE ARENA?! UNMATCHED, WITTY AND QUEEN OF THE BEST STRATEGIES WE’VE SEEN?!

I am honoured, I have always loved your work except for a couple questionable things with Medusa but I understand…

Of course! This is for you @andtheysaidspeaknoww I hope you enjoy it <3 I also want to dedicate this part to @xxgalgurlxx for making ART of the boys™️ which I’m attaching to the bottom because it is so cool and I love it a lot :;) ENJOY SOME FLUFF/comfort for Kit (Hero).

Also! In case you haven’t seen Hero and Villain have names now! Hero’s name is Kit, and Villain’s name is Ambrose. I will link their character descriptions here.

Read part one here

Continued from this part here

I hope you enjoy this part!

*~*~*~*~*

Kit cleaned his arms of the leftover blood, gritting his teeth and hissing when the water ran over his cuts. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to ignore them as much as possible, but it was hard to when they still hurt. When Kit stood from the bath his tracksuit bottoms clung uncomfortably to his legs. He stepped out with a squelch of his socks hitting the tile and dabbed the towel gently over his arms.

The towel came back with bright red streaks across it, and he wanted to scream. He can’t even have a towel in his own fucking house. Kit stormed out of his bathroom and straight into his room, slamming the door shut. Just for effect. Just to show Ambrose that he was pissed, and he would let him know it.

Though, now that he thought about it, the sadist probably got off on his anger or something.

Change out of those clothes.

The command echoed off the walls of Kit’s skull, but he just stood with his back against the door, hands on his knees. His breaths coming out laboured and rattly. Kit tightened his grip on his knees until his knuckles turned white, trying to hold himself back from obeying Ambrose’s command.

If he fought it long enough… when Superhero came back, he’d see.

Kit squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth as he felt his body fighting against his mind.

Come on, Kit pleaded with his limbs. Please. Listen to me, not Ambrose. Obey me.

Even if Kit wanted to disobey this particular command, he couldn’t fight the damp coldness permeating from the wet clothes. If he stayed in them any longer, he’d probably get sick for real. The sleeves on his shirt weren’t wet per se, just damp, cold and irritating. And his tracksuit clung to his legs awkwardly making Kit feel colder than he actually was.

Kit let out a sigh.

He would change, he decided, and that was important. That Kit decided to change, not Ambrose and his stupid power.

Kit took his hands off his knees and straightened up before stepping into the room and grabbing the bottom of his shirt and pulling it up over his head. Once his shirt was off, he already felt ten times better as he obeyed the command got out of his wet clothes. He quickly slipped out of his tracksuit; the soggy fabric slapping wetly against the wood. Kit took his socks off and dropped them on the dirty pile to bring to Ambrose.

He opened his wardrobe; eyes drifting lazily over the selection of clothes and froze. His eyes caught the multiple cuts on his inner wrist, and he wanted to throw up. Kit swallowed the dry lump in his throat as he reached over gingerly to run his finger down along one of the deeper cuts. He felt the ridges the knife created against his skin, the valleys between the flesh of his wrist and how much was cut away.

Kit stepped back, casting his eyes to the ceiling to stop the tears from falling. It wasn’t like they were the first scars Kit ever had, but it didn’t feel like a scar he got from fighting some random Villain. It was so much more personal than that.

So much more violating because Kit had done it to himself, but it was Ambrose’s marking. His brand. His sign of ownership over Kit his strings. Ambrose decided exactly how many cuts, the varying depth of each of them. A cruel, insidious reminder that Kit really was nothing except what Ambrose wanted him to be. That even if Kit fought tooth and nail against Ambrose, he would never be able to win.

A sudden, helpless fury overtook Kit, the energy coursing uncomfortably under his skin. Tight and wired and itching to be released. Kit drew his fist back and punched the wall of his wardrobe, and without waiting delivered a second harder punch.

“Kit?” Ambrose called from some other part of the apartment. “Everything okay in there?”

Kit swallowed a sob, a mix of anger and despair clogging his throat. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and swallowed again before calling back: “yeah fine.”

Kit pretended it didn’t come out as pathetic as it sounded, because that’s all he could do anymore. Pretend. Fool himself. Cower in his imagination away from Ambrose. Make himself appear more like a Hero and less like a… Fuck, what even was he anymore?

Kit grabbed a black crew neck jumper from his wardrobe and another pair of slate grey joggers. He slipped on another pair of socks before scooping up the wet clothes and walking out their door.

“Here,” Kit grumbled, handing Ambrose the wet clothes. Ambrose smiled down at him.

“Thank you, Christopher.”

“Don’t call me that,” Kit snapped. “It’s not my name.” Ambrose grinned and pinched his cheek like Kit was a child.

“But you did such a good job following orders,” Ambrose cooed. Kit slapped his hand away with a huff and turned on his heel towards his room again.

He hadn’t even taken a step forward when Ambrose spoke. “Ah, where are you going?”

Kit’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “To my room. Is that allowed?”

“Hmm… why don’t you ask nicely?”

Fury winded through Kit again as he turned, eyes blazing at Ambrose who stood with the wet clothes still in hand just smiling at Kit’s anger.

“Haven’t you humiliated me enough already today?” Kit demanded.

“Clearly not if you think you can take that tone with me,” Ambrose replied nonchalantly, cocking an eyebrow at Kit when he took a step forward.

“Please, just give me peace, for…” Kit said all anger leaking from his frame once he knew he wasn’t getting anywhere with it. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, licking his lips before continuing: “For an hour or two, I’ll be good I’ll just go into my room and make no noise or do anything bad I promise just please can I have a moment alone? Please?”

Ambrose said nothing for a minute. Instead, he just drank in the desperation oozing from Kit’s tired frame, his sunken shoulders and his hands out, palms facing up as if to show he was no threat.

Begging.

Maybe Ambrose’s lesson finally sunk in this time. Maybe he did crack a little of Kit’s usual steel resolve.

Ambrose inclined his head. “Fine. I didn’t really have anything else planned for the day anyways, so your time is yours.”

“Thank you,” Kit said with a breath. Closing his eyes and savouring the moment. Kit turned for his room again, walking towards it waiting for Ambrose to speak again. To laugh or say “gotcha” and force Kit to do another horrible thing to himself or…

Kit’s hand touched the handle of his bedroom. The cool metal beneath his palm and fingers a shock to his system, that Ambrose was actually allowing him to relax. Kit licked his lips in anticipation and opened the door. Before he walked in though, Kit looked over his shoulder at Ambrose. His dark eyes were following Kit the whole way, and when they met Kit’s the corner of his lips twitched up with amusement.

“Thank you,” Kit said again, forcing his gratitude and relief into his voice. Ambrose blinked, tilting his head slightly as if trying to see from what angle Kit was trying to get over him. “Really.”

Kit turned again and walked into his room after that, letting the door close behind him. Ambrose stood rooted to the spot, staring at the closed door where Kit had disappeared.

He swallowed, only remembering the wet clothes in his arms. Ambrose cleared his throat, ignoring whatever that was all about and focusing instead on getting the clothes out of his arms.

Perhaps he went too far… perhaps he did more than crack the little Hero. Ambrose’s gaze flickered back to the door.

Only time would tell.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

This is @xxgalgurlxx art for Kit and Ambrose. Which I love, thank you again <3

The Orphanage (plz lemme know if you want to be added or removed <;3) - @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Walking In The Wind

A/N: Did I write this fic literally three days ago? Yes. Yes, I did. But I saw this beautiful TikTok and I just knew I had to write a drabble for it! And I knew that it worked perfectly for the first day of @nessianweek. I think there's something so special about the idea of Cassian taking Nesta back to where it all started for him, and I'd like to imagine that's What Happens Next. Enjoy :) Please note this fic is a bit heavy in terms of grief, so please read with care.

Read on AO3

It all looks almost exactly the same as the last time Cassian was here. Blackened and charred buildings, the roof on each one caved in and many with crumbling walls. Any windows with glass still remaining are shattered and cracked, and there’s the hint of new vegetation growth creeping up like vines over the stone. The same can’t be said for the surrounding treeline, still scorched and splintered trunks and branches.

With the gray clouds clinging to the skies overhead, with the blankets of white stretching across the ground, it’s like a ghost town. It doesn’t help that no creatures or critters from the forest dare to venture here anymore, that the snow absorbs any other sounds. It’s nothing but eerie silence and the ruins scattered around the clearing.

Cassian keeps his own feet quiet as he lands in what used to be the village square. He sets Nesta down gently, her gaze flitting around them curiously, and when she turns her attention back to him, her eyebrows pinch in confusion.

“What is this place?” Nesta whispers, as if she too feels that need not to disturb the stillness.

Not to disturb the ghosts here.

Cassian swears he can sense them lingering just over his shoulder, in the corner of his eye. They prickle along his skin, leaving the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight. He knows that if he closes his eyes, he can still see them. Can still see this camp when it was alive, the village square lined with market stalls. Can still hear the sneers of the males. Can still smell the smoke and the flames and the burning flesh.

“This is where I was born,” Cassian finally explains, choking the words out around the lump pressing into his throat. “Where my mother lived.”

Nesta steps closer to him, sliding a hand up his arm, his shoulder, before finding home at his cheek. Her thumb glides across his skin, and it's a soothing balm to the anger threatening to boil over within him. It quiets the beast that rages and roars at being back in this place, surrounded by what happened here.

Cassian doesn't think he'll ever forget that day. Ever forget the emotions that had crashed and torn through his chest until he nearly dropped to his knees. Ever forget the fire that had blazed with such a ferocity through his veins until the only outlet was giving in and drowning beneath the wrath. Ever forget the words that echoed in his mind until nothing but a ringing took up home there.

She's dead, boy.

“Cassian,” Nesta offers gently, pulling him from the memories.

“Over there,” Cassian explains, gesturing with his hand. “That was the building where she worked as a laundress. And down that path, she and I lived with some of the other females.”

Nesta turns her head, her eyes following where he indicated, but she doesn't remove her touch. She doesn't say anything, giving him the time and the space he needs.

“All I ever wanted was to help her get out of here, to help her escape. It’s all I thought about when I was training in Windhaven. But when I finally got back here, after everything, after completing the Rite with Rhys and Az, they told me she died, and they…” Cassian closes his eyes and lets out a stuttering breath, leaning into Nesta’s palm, into the grounding warmth of her. “They wouldn’t even tell me where they buried her. Or where they left her more like.”

Nesta presses even closer, her hand moving up and into his hair, carding her fingers through the strands. It’s a comforting and tender gesture, and Cassian’s heart constricts, with the pain of being back in this place and speaking these words, with the love for this beautiful female who has always known him in a way no one else ever will. He wraps his arms around her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her cloak like a lifeline.

“I never got to bury her in Velaris, bury her with the other dreamers, beneath those stars, and I swore… I swore that I wouldn’t let anyone else become like her. That if I couldn’t save my mother, I would help others. It’s why I pushed so hard for the females to train, so they could protect themselves the way she never could.”

“And you did that.”

“You did that,” Cassian corrects her, bringing his own hands up to frame her face. “What you’ve done, what you and Emerie and Gwyn have built with the Valkyries… you’ve helped so many females feel strong, given them power and strength that my mother never had the opportunity to have, and I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you for that. Ever be able to express how much it means to me.”

Nesta presses up onto her toes, resting her forehead against his. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I do. You’ve made such a difference here, sweetheart. You’ve helped me keep that promise.”

“You sell yourself short. You’ve done so much too.”

“And you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Nesta rolls her eyes fondly, and it’s a gesture that has the knots in Cassian’s chest finally loosening. A gesture that has a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He leans down until his nose bumps against hers, until he can kiss her sweetly, that golden thread between them glowing and thrumming contently.

“My mother would have loved you,” Cassian whispers against her lips. “My beautiful, strong, brilliant mate.”

Nesta laughs softly, the sound music to his ears, but he can hear the emotion there too, clogging her throat as surely as it clogs his own. “And I’m sure she’s proud of everything you’ve done, of the male you’ve become.”

A tear slips free before Cassian can stop it, but Nesta’s thumb is there to catch it, to swipe it away. For a moment, he swears that he can feel his mother’s presence there with them, swears that he can hear her whispers on the wind. Like she’s agreeing. And in that moment, Cassian knows that she is finally, truly at peace.

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck

[downundergarfield]

Holy heck Garfield tf2 fan?!? I'll be the first request 😸 (or I'm probably not) but could I ask for uhhhh, some nsfw with fem/nb reader with Sniper? Where reader surprises that babygirl with some lingerie...

No worries, sweet anon, you was first!~

Here's your Bushman's milk, cuz you're epic

Sniper x Fem!reader who suprises him with lingerie

NSFW warning!

He was hovering over you, pressing you to the sheets. He was warm, even hot, you could have sworn that you felt like bacon in a frying pan. Sniper did not expect that this time you decided to please him with something exotic. Bushman admired your thirsty body in a big oversize T-shirt and pajama pants that fit you baggily.

"-'m gonna taste you like my prey.."

He growled, grabbing the edge of your T-shirt. You bit your lip in hungry anticipation.

You felt his strong hands lifting up your T-shirt, the cold air of the van drenching your body. There was a black lace bra under the baggy T-shirt. You feel him shudder.

"- Bloody gorgeous.."

Mandy almost whispers. He's looking for more. Mick puts warm calloused palms on your sides, gently descending his hands to the elastic band of your pajama pants. His grip burns and he is very excited, as if unpacking the most delicious treat. Actually, for him, you are.

He's pulling down your baggy bunny pajama pants. Under them were lace panties and stockings with straps. Stockings cut into your soft thighs a little, reminding you of something freshly baked and delicious. You feel how his grip grows savage with every dacimeter of your clothes taken off. He sighs excitedly

"my God, Sheila, you spoil me..."

Mick comes down to face you, kisses you on the forehead and cheeks

"- you know how to make yer man happy, don't ya?.."

Mick whispers to you hoarsely and hungry.

He goes down your body, leaving wet kisses that make your skin cold due to moisture. Bushman takes you by the hips, sharply pressing you against the tent in his boxers and you can feel him through all two layers of fabric. He finally pulls off his underwear, allowing a long, thin penis to pop out and crash into your aching pussy. You can feel his hot cock even through your panties and it's driving you crazy. He presses you and rubs himself, squeezing a pre-cum from his penis, which eventually begins to drip on your pubis and wets the lingerie fabric.

You can feel the back wall of his penis twisting your clit. You're languishing with desire, my God, Sniper, don't hesitate!

"- come on, enter me, Mundy~"

You speak lustfully, finally awakening the beast that hides in him. The last drops of his attempts to restrain himself dry up on your heated bed and Sniper abruptly, almost tearing the fabric, pushes your panties aside to enter. He enters sharply, but not painfully, entering your hungry flesh, and the deeper, the more his nails dig into your thighs. You can see his scarred chest moving more often. His breath caught in his throat. You literally felt each of his veins, how his foreskin bares the head and how his soft tip rests against your uterus.

'- god, you're so sexy, what are ya doing to me Y/N..."

Growling, he says, finally picking up the pace. You feel it drilling you over and over again, harassing every nerve inside you and going over and over the G-spot.

Hot moans and whimpers fill his van while he fucks you. You throw back your head in ecstasy, feeling how your beloved man enjoys you. Mick leans on you, resting on his elbows and almost pressing his forehead against you. You can feel his hot breath on your bare skin.

The crazy mix of his wild, animal

moans, hot breath and insane warmth with which the Australian cooks you, finally dissolve the lump in your tummy. You grab onto his sweaty back, trying not to slide off it, scratching with your nails, making the Sniper hiss from this slight pinching pain.

"- Mick I-I'm g-gonna-!"

You scream, feeling like your orgasm is about to overtake you

"S-same.."

He squeezes out, grabbing the straps on your stockings. Suddenly, the white-hot pleasure explodes with colors in your tummy and sparkles in your eyes when you cum hard right on his penis.

"- crikey, Y/N, im..aaAH!"

You squeeze his penis in your orgasm. Your narrowness, claws on the back and a revealing outfit are finally doing their job.

The Bushman pours right into you, filling you with his seed and hoarsely moaning your name.

After you finally catch your breath, Mick takes you in the world's strongest hug

"thank you, Sheila, that was sexy as hell."

[ac0531]

Stay With Me

This was inspired by the most recent key art we got for season 5! Hope everyone enjoys!

Rayla’s eyes were full of tears, her voice frantic, fearful- hands gripping tightly onto Callum’s arm.

…his limp arm.

The crashing of the waves drowned out most of the shouting that was coming from her mouth, and she could barley hear anything around her.

Beside her, she saw Ezran yelling, his eyes full of tears. Soren was kneeling down, trying to calm him down- to try and assure him, but it didn’t stop him from shaking Callum’s shoulders.

But he was still limp… not moving a muscle.

At that moment, Rayla was chastising two people. It was first at Callum, for jumping into the water in the first place, believing that Domina was down there- but instead a giant, ferocious octopus was there to greet them, to try and kill them.

And second… it was at herself.

For failing… again.

She wasn’t fast enough. Even if she pushed passed her fear of water and raced down to the bottom of the ocean as fast as her body would allow her… she still was not quick enough.

Callum was caught, wrapped up in the monster’s tentacles. Watching that scene unfold caused a surge of energy she’d never felt before to rush through her- and in a flash, her sword was unsheathed and striking at the tentacle.

Metal cut through flesh- the color of the water started to change.

But it backed off, retreated into the darkness- allowing Rayla the chance to grab Callum and get back. Her other arm managed to grab Ezran as well, bringing the two out from the water and onto the ship that was near them.

Ezran was ok… but when Callum wasn’t moving, that’s when Rayla’s blood ran cold and her heart starting picking up speed.

Everyone had circled around Callum, and now Rayla was desperately trying to keep him here.

“Callum!!” Her voice pierced through the wind and rain, her breathing picking up. “Callum, stay with me!” The lump in her throat grew, her voice getting hoarse.

No… He wasn’t waking up.

The world seemed to freeze around Rayla, her teeth clenching, her body shaking.

Callum… he wasn’t…

The thought alone was enough for Rayla to nearly vomit. Her desperation only grew, her mind racing to figure something out.

Until…

Ezran yelled something at Rayla, the winds obscuring his voice slightly, but she was able to make out just barley what was said.

“He.. Please do something Rayla!!!”

His eyes locked onto hers, full of distress. Soren and Corvus had placed their hands on his shoulders to try and calm him down, Stella had even put her paw on his cheek to help, but the anguish in his voice was still there.

And that’s when Rayla’s expression shifted.

From complete fear, to one of steely determination.

She didn’t have time to think about this. This was urgent- time was not their friend.

She’d remembered a procedure through Ethari, since he had saved her from almost drowning when she was almost killed by the Bloodmoon Huntress.

Still retaining the memory, her hands centered on his chest, shoulders directly over and elbows locked. With furrowed eyebrows, she started pressing down, repeating the process.

Each compression helped her maintain the thread of hope that Callum was still alive, not wanting it to slip away.

She couldn’t lose him.

No… she wouldn’t lose him!

After a bit, her hands left his chest- one hand moving up to gently pinch the bridge of his nose shut. Taking a deep breath, Rayla carefully leaned down, her lips touching his.

Ignoring the feeling that coursed through her body, Rayla breathed in, pulling back and doing it again a second time. She returned to giving compressions again, still desperate.

The world around her seemed to slow down, her mind could only focus on bringing the person she still loved back. She wasn’t going to stop- not going to give up.

“Stay with me… please Callum…” Her words were a whisper, drowned out by the noises around her.

She could still hear the shouts from Ezran, Soren and Corvus, but she paid no attention, still locked onto Callum.

And just when it felt like it wasn’t working… Callum suddenly moved.

His body lurched, a loud cough coming from him. He desperately breathed for air, his mind returning back to where he was.

Despite his hazy vision, he could still make out the features of Rayla, looking at him with both surprise, and sheer relief.

Relief that he was alright.

Relief that… he was still here.

The next thing Rayla found herself doing, her arms were wrapped tightly around Callum’s neck- face buried into his shoulder.

“You… you dummy!” Her voice broke, tears spilling from her face. “You scared everyone half to death!”

Although he was still processing everything, Callum instinctively wrapped his arms around Rayla, keeping her close to him.

The next thing he felt- Ezran, Soren, Corvus and even Stella all circling him, holding him in a big hug.

Ezran was crying with relief, Soren and Corvus smiled, happy that he was alright. Stella on the other hand chittered with excitement, keeping close to Rayla.

For that moment, nothing else mattered to Callum.

For now… he chose to embrace everyone.

His family….

[helpmeimblorboing]

Epic the Musical's portrayal of Odysseus' meeting with his mother actually made me start ugly-crying so have this rough draft of what the scene would look like in a potential sequel to Silvertongue (warning : I wrote this while sleep deprived and crying so its pretty shit)

It reached me all at once – the low strain of the ghostly wails, the cries of the damned. They raked across my mind, screaming in my ears like a thousand overlapping voices. They raked across my mind, and I feel a prickling at the corners of my eyes, like the points of a thousand piercing ears. There is a pain in my heart I cannot explain. There is a grief that wells in my throat – one I cannot speak aloud. My men mill about me, and then it comes

“Waiting”

My eyes widen. I had heard that voice before. It whispered sweet nothings into my ear as a child, the breath of its speaker rustling the hair on my infant head, tickling my ears, making my laugh (that breath was gone, now. I would never feel its touch again) . The floor falls out from under me. I cannot breathe. No. No. It couldn’t…. no !!

The ghosts shifted out of the way in a singular wailing mass, the faces of those I had failed shifting like a curtain of shifting mist, and then I saw her

Her hair was greyed, her unseeing eyes gazing out into the nothingness of the Underworld, but I recognized her – how could I not ? Those lips, rendered translucent and paper-white in the ghost-pale light of the dead had once pressed against my brow

My lips parted, and the years melted away. I was no longer Odysseus of a Thousand Tricks, of a Thousand Plans. I was Odysseus, who destroyed everything he touched. Odysseus, who failed everyone he loved

“Mama ?”

Her head seems to shift almost imperceptibly in my direction. When I was a child, I used to enjoy hiding amidst the barrenness of Ithaca. Every time, my mother would come after me, invariably find me – how could I not ? I birthed you. She used to smile at me then, a fond, curving thing, dripping with that special, fond, love that only a mother can hold for her child

“I’ll find you, Odysseus. No matter where you go. My sunshine.”

Fool that I was, I used to retort defiantly, cheeks puffed up in a childish pique, “Then… I’ll hide so far away that you’ll never be able to find me again !! You’ll see !!”

She had laughed – she would never laugh again, thanks to me – a high, clear sound, and had pressed her lips – cold, frozen, dead – to my forehead, tilting up my head slightly to look me in the eyes. Her bright eyes – now dead and dimmed and broken, thanks to her failure of a son – windows to a heart that had suffered so much, and yet loved so deeply

“Then I’ll wait for you to come back. You’ll return to me, won’t you ? My Odysseus”

“Mom”, I gasp, breathlessly, as she seems to turn to look at me – but she wasn’t, and she never would again, “You promised… you promised you’d wait”

Her ghostly visage, blank in a way it had never been in life, tilted, her glassy, pale eyes piercing through to my very soul like arrows, where once their gaze had been a balm to my wounds. They carried an unspoken accusation - I did

Her lips part in a mournful wail, "Waiting. Odysseus, when you come home, I'll be waiting"

I couldn't. My tongue, so famed for its sharpness, was thick in my mouth, an unfeeling lump of broken flesh, "Mom", I plead, "Can't you see me ? I'm right here... Mom... Mama, please"

She couldn't. She never would again. Because I took too long. In my pride, I killed her. I killed my own mother, all because I was too proud to not take credit for that fucking Cyclops

I collapsed to my knees. The hard, weathered wood of the deck bit at my bare, scraped knees, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. My fingernails dug into the soft wood, splinters piercing skin, blood flowing freely, but I didn’t care. I deserved it

What sort of a son murders his own mother ?